


Burning Heat! (3 Option Mix)

by heighten (potentiate)



Series: Burn Together [1]
Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Aftercare, Biting, Communication, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominant Lio Fotia, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Impact Play, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, Leather, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Sadism, Self-Discovery, Sexting, Spanking, Submissive Galo Thymos, Temperature Play, Tenderness, Top Drop, Wax Play, workout kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiate/pseuds/heighten
Summary: “Hey, you,” says Galo, half-lidded, over his bare shoulder, wearing naught but sweatpants in the little kitchen that backs onto the bedroom and bathroom. His hair is unstyled, pouring loose over one ear in a blue waterfall. Coffee’s brewing. Always sounds to Lio like someone pissing slowly into a container, but fortunately it smells a hell of a lot better.Lio’s mind jump-cuts to the memory of Galo on one knee, low-lidded like he is now, nuzzling Lio’s hand with intent. His hand rushes with sensation like he’s just withdrawn it from a bucket of ice.***Lio learns—with Galo's rather more experienced help—that actually it's okay to Desire Things, even if those things might seem overwhelming at first.(Experienced sub Galo teaches inexperienced dom Lio a thing or two. Lio learns about himself, and about their relationship, on the way.)
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Series: Burn Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050716
Comments: 82
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> look I'm SUBverting the "experienced dom" trope ok... let me (and baby dom lio who gets heated at the tiniest hint of kneeling) live...
> 
> this is my first foray into the promare fandom let's see where it goes yeehaw
> 
> title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTt8-z27Fd4) please do yourself a favour and listen... there is something enormously promare about this tune

In Lio’s dream, Galo is on his knees.

He is kneeling, his hips pointing away from Lio into whatever nebulous space they are in. Lio can’t recall the specifics of the surroundings once he wakes up; it could just as easily be the gasoline-smelling Burning Rescue garage as the surface of the _Parnassus_ , bright with first sunlight.

But in Lio’s dream Galo is on his knees, ass up, cheek pressed into his elbow, neck curved so that he’s looking behind him. In Lio’s dream Galo’s eyes are hazy and desperate, filled with entreaty. Galo curves his spine, works the muscle of his bare backside around the darkness between his asscheeks.

“ _Please_ ,” Galo begs, his voice cracking around the syllable as the fingers of his free hand dig into the ground.

Lio is not sure, evaluating this dream later, how he is capable of witnessing all of Galo at once, completely, given that his gaze is so laser-focused on Galo’s eyes. He credits it to the bonkers unreality of dream logic. In Lio’s dream he can see Galo’s thighs working at the same time as he can see Galo’s lips curve into a smile.

“Please, Lio,” comes the request, passionate, overwhelmed, inviting. “Please hurt me.”

In his dream, Lio brings his hand sweetly into Galo’s spiked hair—the dream makes no sensory mention of Galo’s four-tall stack of hair products—and then grips, hard, right at the scalp. Galo rolls his eyes back in his head and puts his face right on the floor, mumbling gratitude. Dream-Lio straightens his spine, drags his hand down the bumps of Galo’s bent spine, and after a brief wind-up, brings implement down on asscheek. He feels and hears the recoil from Galo’s body but resists it, pressing into the strike. Galo gasps laughing. Lio soothes the strike with a circular rub from his hand, or from the implement—what is it? One of Lio's belts? The flat of a sword? A rubber chicken?—and then with every confidence that it is what Galo wants, raises his arm and delivers another. Harder this time. And harder.

Galo’s toes curl.

Lio comes awake with a raging boner to the imaginary sound of Galo’s gasps turning into blissed-out groans, slams his phone alarm into silence, and dislodges himself from the couch and blankets before he can even register whether Galo is moving yet in his bedroom. Shower, Lio tells himself, in the two seconds it takes him to cross the room, jamming his calf into the low coffee table they’ve relocated to behind the couch since Lio moved in, and yeah that’ll leave a bruise, but right now he’s got more urgently embarrassing things on his mind.

Distantly, Lio hears Galo jostling awake and coming into the living area, in the galumphing way only he can. He turns up the pressure and heat on the shower to drown out the noise and goes to town.

***

It’s been six months since the Promare burnt themselves out for their own benefit and sealed the worlds apart from one another. Six months since Lio found himself suddenly free of firepower, suddenly asked by human society to represent an entire population on a world stage, people who—at least in Promepolis—themselves now suddenly fell into a strange in-between status. Politics writ large came knocking. Lio left behind any hope for Burnish reintegration ages ago; they were now being asked to relinquish Burnish identity while also to forget the criminalization of Burnish around the world; things were, in a word, complicated, and they remain so to this day. Meis and Gueira have at least agreed to step in to handle the political day-to-day of Burnish affairs while Lio continues to work directly on recovery efforts.

Now that the fires have been put out, they can see the shape of the distant horizon.

Still, Lio holds a spokesperson type of role—probably always will, to some extent. In interviews, they ask him questions like, “What’s next?” His emergency media training tells him to make a joke once in a while, as long as it’s self-deprecating, and so he says things like: “Get used to this, I imagine.” Sometimes he talks about going to school for human rights law. Usually they keep in the first answer and cut the second. Sound bites. Contemptuous, but Lio doesn’t have the capacity to care. There’s always something else going on, someone from another Burnish rights struggle elsewhere in the world asking his advice, a new conflict cropping up in the power vacuum.

With everything going on, he’s had to content himself with friendship. Galo has frankly surprised him by being an angel of patience with Lio, who has had to slowly come down from his near-lifelong hypervigilance. The bone-deep connection they forged in only a couple of days during the Parnassus incident still stands strong in them. But it became clear, quickly, that these were indeed just bones, albeit strong ones; that they would have to work to build flesh onto them. They knew nothing about one another except the deepest, most fundamental things.

Now they're working on… the details.

He and Galo would start a shift together by checking all the equipment, and Galo would start conversations about some other pop culture thing, to gauge Lio’s interests. So far they’d gotten through music pretty well, since Ignis would let them listen to whatever they wanted while on shift as long as it wasn’t an interference. Lio didn’t dislike any music, but under Galo’s prodding he’d confessed a fondness for punk, hip hop, and dark techno; he’d learned in exchange that Galo was a total synthpop aficionado.

Having cleaned up in that area, Galo has apparently now moved on to film. “So you’ve never seen _Terminal Revenge_? What about _Terminal Revenge 2: Wrath of the Revengers_?? Uh, I count twenty-six gel packs,” he says, on the stepladder in one of the supply bays, his knees at the level of Lio’s eyes.

Lio checks the tablet for the number of flame-retardant gel packs for this bay. “I haven’t seen the sequel either. Why would I see the sequel before I’d seen the original?”

Galo shrugs, firing Lio half a grin under the curve of his arm. “Sheer luck? The sequel’s way better. There’s this whole scene—I mean obviously nothing compares anymore to the real thing—” —by now Lio knows that when Galo says the real thing he means that now-almost-unreal day they spent saving the world, their souls fusing together in the Lio de Galon— “—but there’s this scene where a guy hangs off the like, bottom part of a helicopter while making out with the leading lady and also escaping an exploding reactor.”

“Sounds het,” Lio says, wrinkling his nose mildly, tapping a nail on the tablet. “Check again. There should be 30 packs. There isn’t any reason for a four-pack discrepancy and I don’t want us to have to chase Lucia down if she’s been making ‘personal-use requisitions’ again.”

“Ah, yeah,” says Galo, going up on his tiptoes to peer into the back of the storage bay. “There’s definitely more stuff back there, shit’s in the way—hang on—” He shoves a massive arm into the bay, just above his shoulder height. It looks almost hilariously awkward, what with the screwed-up focus on his face.

“Don’t work too hard, you’ll herniate yourself,” Lio quips.

“Fuck you, man,” says Galo good-naturedly. "I could always get you up on my shoulders and make you reach back here yourself. A _ha_.” His hand seems to get purchase on something, and he drags it out with a hard tug. Out comes an overstuffed backpack, looking very much like a Lucia stash. With it come a bunch of gel packs. They shoot down seven feet. Most slam down onto the floor with wet-sounding smacks. One nearly brains Lio, who darts back quick.

“ _Idiot_ —”

“Sorry, fuck, sorry,” and after dropping the backpack Galo hops down from the stepladder, catching himself on one knee at Lio’s feet, head bent as he starts to gather the fallen packs together.

Time shudders to a halt when Galo’s knee hits the floor. There’s something—there’s something wholly atavistic about seeing the blue-faded back of Galo’s neck. Lio swallows something swelling inside him, a heartbeat in his throat maybe. His entire attention shrinks to the careful shave at Galo’s nape.

In this moment Lio feels large beyond words, as large as he once felt while donning his armour, and he misses that—but this is different. This burns, true, but it burns differently. Behind his eyes. In the pit of his stomach.

He reaches out in an uncontrolled moment and dusts his fingertips across Galo’s barbered nape, where neck meets skull.

Galo’s skin jumps under his touch, but Galo himself doesn’t startle, not in a big way. Hands frozen in their scramble to gather the gel packs into a pile, one knee still down on the floor, Galo slowly tips his head back. The shapes of his hair touch Lio’s front as he moves, but Lio doesn’t pay attention; he only seeks Galo’s gaze. Look at me, he wants to say. _Look at me and do not ever look away again._

When Lio does find the blue of Galo’s eyes, questioning and steady, Lio moves his hand. The pad of the thumb to Galo’s cheekbone below the right eye.

If what Lio sees Galo do in that moment isn’t a full-body shiver, complete with flutter of eyelashes and parting of lips, then his senses must be in dire need of calibration. A responding flush of power echoes through Lio’s body, belly to toes to head. He feels so stable, standing over Galo like this. Utterly and completely anchored.

The corners of Galo’s mouth twitch, a near-smile tempered by the utter silence of the moment. “Lio?” he asks, voice low. Almost private.

Lio swallows again. “You good?” he asks, and watches Galo’s face turn crimson, his mouth and eyes widen into a delighted, surprised smile.

Galo takes a deep breath and licks his lips. “I wanna answer that question in a different way than you’re asking it,” he says, nonsensically, taking just a hint of his lower lip in his teeth.

And then he _dares_ , holding Lio’s gaze, to half-lid his eyes and rub his cheek against Lio’s thumb. Against the backs of his fingers.

 _Holy shit_ , Lio thinks, and pulls his hand back like he’s been chilled. Galo’s expression goes confused.

“Better clean this up,” Lio stammers, then steps back and grips the tablet tight. He swings around to where Galo dropped Lucia’s backpack-stash and tosses it onto his shoulder. “I’ll bring this to Lucia.”

“Cool,” Galo calls as Lio walks away, and Lio knows that if he looks back over his shoulder he’ll see Galo still on one knee, maybe still red in the face, maybe still giving him that eager smile. 

The next morning, he has the dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave me a comment or a kudos, I am simply a trans who runs on validation & i love u


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not that Lio doesn’t _know_ what it is that he’s experiencing when sits down on the toilet after his shower to let his heart pound itself out a bit. He measures out the thoughts running in his head one at a time, teasing them out, those columns of flame snaking around a core concept.

First of all, Galo’s always caught his attention, ever since that first fight where in his armour Lio feigned boredom as he appraised him. The interest then was more calculating, the question in his mind more one of _how can I get this ant to apprehend me without also phoning it in_. Since the _Parnassus_ incident, Lio’s been absolutely gone for Galo, no question. And Galo’s been—not gone for him, he can’t say for sure, he can’t put thoughts in Galo’s head for him, but he hasn’t hidden his interest. It’s just been tough to find time to do anything about it.

Second of all, arousal, yes, arousal, fine. Lio hasn’t had time for sex in a long while, eight months maybe, not since things really quickened around the incident. But he knows that’s what he’s feeling, arousal namely. It’s just, certainly it should be around Galo messily downing a sport drink, or around him shaving his chest on a bench in the locker room with a disposable razor (”Otherwise it’ll just singe off, see,” he’s been known to explain it, with a grin and a wink), or around him squatting 400 pounds during their mandated training hours.

Well—okay—those too. But the kneeling, the way Galo nudged his cheek against Lio’s hand, the way in Lio’s dream he pleaded so eagerly for pain—it’s not that he doesn’t _know_ how to name it. It’s that it’s never asked to be let out before.

He picks himself up, shakes himself off, dunks his face in cold water. Lifts up his chin, stares at the door. Ready. Aim.

Fuck.

“Hey, you,” says Galo, half-lidded, over his bare shoulder, wearing naught but sweatpants in the little kitchen that backs onto the bedroom and bathroom. His hair is unstyled, pouring loose over one ear in a blue waterfall. Coffee’s brewing. Always sounds to Lio like someone pissing slowly into a container, but fortunately it smells a hell of a lot better.

Lio’s mind jump-cuts to the memory of Galo on one knee, low-lidded like he is now, nuzzling Lio’s hand with intent. His hand rushes with sensation like he’s just withdrawn it from a bucket of ice.

“Hi. Gmorning.” Lio hurries out from the bathroom area, around the counter that cuts the kitchen from the open living area where Lio’s slept the last six months. He puts his folded pyjamas on the coffee table, which, at the back of the sofa, now serves as his clothing storage. “Sleep well?”

“ _Hell_ yeah,” Galo says, stretching his arms above his head so that his lats and serratus are on full and agonizing display. “Had a lot to think about. Good stuff! Got kinda wrapped up in—what happened yesterday? In the storage bays?”

 _Just_ in case Galo needs plausible deniability, Lio goes first for the benefit of the doubt. “You mean what happened with the gel packs? Finding Lucia’s cache?” He heads to the kitchen counter, leans on it standing to look at the coffee drip its way into the pot. “It wasn’t anything sensitive, just parts for another model of the Machina Deī.” He smiles out of the corner of his mouth, is pleased to find that Galo is smiling, too; Lucia’s gotten really dedicated to reverse-engineering a version of the Deus Ex Machina to work with two human pilots.

“I can’t wait to ride again with you,” Galo says, grinning, and then catching himself for focus. “And—no. I mean the thing where you touched me.” He rests fingers on his cheek in exactly the spot Lio had rested them, as though a memory’s burned its way into the skin there.

 _What a good boy for remembering so well,_ Lio thinks, as though a monster of horniness has been unleashed by this period of downtime known to some as a _weekend_. Then he swallows hard, and flushes, and immediately has to dart his gaze off to one side. “Uh huh.”

“I’m just thinking—” Galo lifts one shoulder to his ear, this much Lio can see. “It’s quieted down. We have more time these days. We can actually do something with this massive sexual energy between us now. Like.” He points his hands into a vee, like an arrow. Like the triangle soul of a Promare. “Channel it.”

Their eyes meet, and Lio feels heat shoot like lightning down into the earth from the crown of his head. “I don’t _just_ want sex from you,” he manages.

“Oh no?” Galo leans onto his elbows on the countertop, offers a hand; inexorably Lio takes it in one of his own, and Galo covers it with his other. “What else d’you want from me, boss?”

There’s a twinkle of glad mischief in Galo’s eyes. In fact he’s positively _vibrating_ , even shifting his weight from foot to foot so it looks like he’s wiggling his ass slowly from side to side.

“Uh—a relationship,” Lio stammers, curling his one hand in the hot cradle of Galo’s two.

 _That_ seems to catch Galo by surprise. “Oh, shit,” he whispers, standing up straight, a weird expression on his face, though he doesn’t let go of Lio’s hand. “I thought we were already. In a.”

“Since when? Nobody sent _me_ the memo.” Then Lio squints— “Wait, what the hell did you _think_ I meant? What did you mean, _what else?_ ”

Galo barks a laugh. “Come on, bro! We’ve lived together for six months! We’ve been on like—at least five dates! I figured we were just taking it slow!”

“Dating doesn’t make a serious relationship, Galo! Also, when did we go on literally any dates??”

“We—okay. There was the pizza place reopening party. Classic party.”

“A party isn’t a date! Galo!” Not that Lio has really been on any dates to speak of, pretty much ever, but it’s the _principle_.

“Okay, well, that cuts two of my other ones—but how about the ones where we went together to the frozen lake and I made lunch for you and we talked about our hopes and dreams for the future? I asked you if you wanted kids!”

Lio scrubs his face with his free hand and sighs into it. “Those—were both really romantic, but I didn’t have _clarity_ , Galo, I had no fucking clue, my head was busy with work.”

“Oh.” Galo drops his head to the counter, puts his forehead to their joined hands. Muffled, then: “I really am an idiot, aren’t I.”

“Hey. No. I mean, we’re both kind of the idiot,” says Lio, and rests his free hand on Galo’s soft, unstyled hair, thumbing at the faded side of his head. “I think I can forgive this infraction.”

Two things happen: one, Galo exhales a soft sigh under the weight of Lio’s hand and sinks into where he’s holding Lio’s hand in both of his own; two, he seems to shiver again, much like he did yesterday with Lio’s thumb on his cheek. “Careful, boss,” he says, muffled. “This conversation’s kinda going in the direction of the aforementioned ‘ _what else_ ’.”

Lio swallows again. He’s fucking parched, apparently. His head and cheeks feel aglow at the sight of Galo all soft, just for him, on the kitchen counter. He wonders what the view would be like from behind Galo, instead of from in front of him—what does Galo look like, relaxed chest-to-surface with his hair loose, his eyelashes low, his mouth half-open, from that angle? Are his legs spread on the other side? What if Lio bade him stay like this, but on his tiptoes, until he couldn’t stand the strain anymore? How long until Galo’s formidable strength would give out and his calves start to cramp? Again Lio tamps down his own personal horniness monster, just hoping to focus.

“Galo.” Lio thumbs the shorn side of Galo’s head, slow, rhythmic strokes.

“Mm.”

“I want to have this conversation with you, but on the sofa, please.”

Galo blinks and lifts up onto his elbows like he’s waking from sleep. He hums happily. Lio can see it: he’s flushed on his cheeks and it reaches his throat and chest. “Can I make you a coffee?” he asks, eyes enticingly lidded.

This man, Lio is discovering at breakneck speed, is _distressingly_ aware of his sexuality. The need to shatter and reassemble him, dammed until now by the twin glacial barriers of exhaustion and preoccupation, crashes into Lio like a firestorm.

“Yeah,” says Lio, clutching the edge of the counter. “Yeah, please.”

Lio goes to sit. The room feels brighter around him. Galo brings him coffee made the way he likes it, extra creamy, and Lio holds it in his lap. Galo sits beside him. It’s almost painfully visible like this that Galo’s thigh is twice the diameter of Lio’s own. He still smells like sleep. Like man, like body heat, softened by the smell of clean bedding.

Beside him Galo sips from his own coffee. “So. When I asked what else you wanted from me than sex, like, the first time, I meant, like—” He gestures between them. Galo is nothing if not expressive. “Whether there was anything not-necessarily-sexual you wanted. Based on what happened yesterday. Anything kinky.”

Lio’s expecting the conversation but the word spoken by Galo, and with such confidence, still manages to catch him a bit by surprise. The coffee stays in his mouth, luckily. “Um, maybe?”

“What kind of maybe is that?” Galo looks at him, tucking his waterfall of hair behind an ear in a move that is too cute for words.

“Maybe, as in—I don’t know if what I want counts. Or if it’s okay.”

“Lio,” says Galo, hinting at laughter, at disbelief. “The whole point of kink is that it feels a little bit not-okay by normal sex standards.”

Lio blushes into his coffee.

Galo opens his mouth, closes it again. “I—guess I was assuming you have experience. If you don’t, that’s cool too. I wanna meet you where you’re at!”

Lio’s adoration goes molten inside him. “I’m—I’ve had plenty of sex, just—what you’re talking about, all this, the kneeling, what happened yesterday?” He gestures in a circle with the coffee like he’s casting a protective circle. “This is new territory for me. Good territory,” he amends, in a hurry, “but new.”

“That’s okay,” Galo says, soft-voiced, bending his head to try to catch Lio’s gaze where Lio has dropped it. “Do you think we can restart this chat from the top? Without me making assumptions, and without you feeling like you need to be nervous? We’ll get more headway that way.”

Snickering into his coffee, Lio says, “You said ‘head’.”

In answering boyishness Galo snorts into his own cup. “Hell yeah I did, boss.”

Lio takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’m Lio Fotia, nice to meet you.” (They shake hands, a private joke.) “I’m gay, I’ve had a decent amount of sex and a handful of boyfriends, it’s been eight months since I last fucked, and the fucks I’ve had have been pretty straight-forward. Most interesting thing I’d say I’ve done would be group sex. Not a lot of—beautiful men kneeling for me. Not many power highs.” He gestures around his head, as though maybe if he does so Galo will be able to detect the lingering aura of lightness he gets when Galo goes all—pliant.

“Nice to meet you, Lio Fotia. I’m Galo Thymos, your—boyfriend, I hope?” (Lio nods, pleased, and sips more coffee. Galo _beams_.) “I’m bi, I’ve also had a decent amount of sex and a couple partners, and I’d like it a lot if you’d fuck me, but I’m a sub, and I hope you’d want to dominate me, too, sometimes. You’re so fucking sexy when you do dom things.”

“What exactly—do you count as dom things?” Lio asks, pulling his legs up onto the sofa with him so that he can sit cross-legged looking at Galo. He wants to see Galo’s face while he talks, see the animation on him.

“You touching the back of my neck when I’m on my knees,” Galo says matter-of-factly; “you petting my hair while I apologize. You threatening to charge me with infractions and penalties.” He grins, almost like there’s a game they’re playing, like he’s enjoying himself. “I don’t know if you remember the day we met, when you pulled up a throne just to look badass, legs all spread—” Galo gestures in the air in front of him, like he’s placing the players in the scene relative to one another. Lio he places far above the sofa, above his head even. He places himself as an open hand on his thigh. “ _That_ had sexy energy.”

Lio’s about to agree with him, because so far he’s following—everything Galo has alluded to makes sense from his limited understanding. But then Galo keeps going: “Any time you tell me I did a good job at something, or _was_ good… any time you tell me to do something with just your eyes… any time when I’m sitting on the floor at your knee and you put your hand in my hair.”

“Movie night,” Lio breathes, not even having registered it. They’ve had two or three lulls during their twenty-four hour shifts lately, and Burning Rescue tradition is sometimes to put a movie on while members are doing other things, like cooking, paperwork, or inventory. During their recent screening of _The Spectacular Six_ , and then again during a watch of one of Remi’s favourite foreign films, Galo came to sit on the floor in front of Lio and put his head against Lio’s knee. Lio took the invitation; Galo melted.

“ _Hell_ yeah, movie night. I mean—don’t get me wrong, none of those things are on their own kinky, or mean you had any intentions, or nothing.” Galo shrugs. “They’re just—the energy comes through in ‘em. I love it, I hope you _do_ do it with intent from now on. If that's something you wanna try.”

“I’m still wrapping my head around it,” Lio says, feeling overwhelmed and very soft, like a cloud of candy floss caught in a mere breeze. “I’m honestly still wrapping my head around just the _boyfriend_ thing. Maybe we pause the kink talk and just… start with boyfriending? Until we’re both completely on the same page with that? And then add on the other stuff as we go?”

Galo’s eyes go wide, and he sets his coffee on the floor, presumably to avoid spilling it in his horror. “Hey, yeah, you’re right, I’m busting down the door, not even thinking about where you're at. Sorry. Better reel it back.” He pulls a hand back through his hair, still as wildly, incredibly beautiful as ever, even shy and embarrassed and private like he is now.

“All of this is good information, don’t get me wrong,” Lio says, and sets his coffee down, too. He places his hands on Galo’s shoulders, drags them down his arms. “But yeah. Let me practice being partnered first before I get into—” —he swallows— “—pushing you around, or hurting you to feel good, or whatnot.”

 _Something_ he says gets Galo's attention, and the next moment the man's leaning forward into Lio’s space until his coffee breath—luckily the very same breath that Lio himself currently has—tickles Lio’s chin. “I figure we still got dirty talk ‘til then, right.”

Lio laughs—"Yeah, duh"—and turns his face to kiss Galo, _finally_ , wrapping his hand in Galo’s plume of hair so he can get the right angle on the man’s tonsils. Finally, finally, _finally_ , they sink into the sofa together and make out well into the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> them: miscommunication is one of the tropes of the romantic comedy genre  
> me: let's make chapter 2 ENTIRELY about communication
> 
> pls like comment & subscribe this video I mean fanfic if ure enjoying it thank U!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "traps" refers to trapezius muscles, have you seen Galo's design lately ???

By their next free weekend day, a couple weeks later, Lio’s feeling confidently boyfriendy enough to ask Galo to revisit dirty talk.

“So like—how does this work?”

“Same as any dirty talk,” says Galo, lying bare-chested under Lio on the sofa while late afternoon sunlight blazes through the windows. The man looks altogether too delighted, even shit-eatingly pleased, to have Lio straddling his waist in an oversized tee and basketball shorts.

It’s been a wildly lazy day off of handjobs, soccer-game-watching, and being fed Galo’s cooking. Lio’s been so thoroughly wrapped up that he’s spent but a mere hour sending encrypted emails to other Burnish activists globally.

It’s so indulgent it shouldn’t be allowed. And neither should Galo’s pink-cheeked grin, stretching to the full size of his face.

“You just tell me what you want to do to me while you feel me up, then we get each other off, it’s really simple. The idea is I get to hear what’s on your mind, and the sex makes it easier to be honest in the moment about your fantasies, even if you don’t necessarily want to do ‘em in real life. Nothing we say here is a promise. It’s just another way to get to know each other better.” Galo reaches up to touch Lio’s chest, keeping his hands polite and gentle. It’s overwhelming how easy this seems to be for him, and not that it ever surprises Lio how candid Galo can be about his feelings, it’s just he never figured _this_ to be part of it.

“Okay,” Lio says. “Yeah.”

Galo flips up the bottom hem of the back of Lio’s tee and traces fingers just above his waistband. Soothing little circles. “You start. Between the two of us, you being less experienced, you’re the baseline right now.”

“I—okay. But let me like, get into it?” Bending at the waist, his hands braced on the sofa arm behind Galo’s head, Lio lowers himself to Galo’s face for a kiss.

Hands, mouths, body heat, the smell of Galo’s clean body. Lio lets it carry him for a minute until his arousal really starts spiking. Heat blooms in his belly, in his head, as Galo’s chest starts to move more.

He catches a stray thought, looks at it. Ah. Yeah. Yep. That’s where we wanna go.

“I want to bite your traps like all the time,” he ventures, humming into Galo’s ear.

Galo half-giggles, half-sighs. “You are _so cute_.”

Even _that_ was hard for him to say, so Lio flares: “What’s cute about biting your traps??”

Galo soothes him with the hand at his lower back. When Lio pulls back enough to see his face, he’s grinning. “Sorry, sorry—you’re very dangerous and scary actually and I live in fear of your teeth.”

“I’ll bite the fucking smile off your face,” Lio growls, and immediately gets a reaction: a shiver.

“ _That’s_ more like it, hell yeah!” Galo crows. “More please!”

“I want—” When on earth did it get so hard to finish a fucking sentence? Images billow in his mind. He knows he’s _safe_ with Galo, that’s the whole point of this exercise, is establishing safety, but it’s still difficult. But he knows he’s been through way harder, and he’ll do an awful lot if it means inspiring another shiver like that, or getting Galo all half-lidded and slack-jawed again.

“I want to bruise you,” he says simply, because better to start somewhere. “I want it to hurt.”

“Mmmm _yep_.” Under him, Galo squirms. His eyes are huge. Lio wonders if he could measure the dilation of Galo’s pupils with a ruler.

“I want you to let me do it, too. In fact: I want you to offer me your most sensitive places precisely so I can hurt you there.” Lio moistens his mouth. “I want you to ask me for it.”

Galo’s eyes slide shut for a second, his grin changing. He’s _delighted_. “Cool.”

“I want—I can’t tell if I want to bruise you all up, so everyone can see,” says Lio, dusting his fingers all over Galo’s chest and throat, “or if I specifically want to bruise you in places they can’t, so that it’s our secret.” There he reaches behind him for the inside of Galo’s left thigh, and is gratified to find the beginnings of an outline in his sweatpants.

Breath hitching, Galo says: “I want that too.”

“Yeah?” Is it, like, possible to get drunk off of a conversation? Because Lio feels _drunk_. “You want me to bite your thighs till it’s hard for you to sit down from the bruising? Get only your thighs black and blue, tear you up with my teeth? You’d ask me nicely for it?”

Galo’s hands have completely stilled on Lio’s body. “Affirmative.”

“Good.” Lio traces circles on Galo’s chest, just with his fingertips. Reminds him that he’s here. “Good. Yeah.”

When Galo opens his eyes, something’s changed. He fixes his gaze on Lio’s like he’s setting a fishhook.

“Your turn,” says Lio, thumbing Galo’s lower lip.

“I want you to train me,” Galo whispers, and then kisses the pad of Lio’s thumb. “I want to be the best for you.”

“You’re already the best for me.” Lio can’t help it. He puts his hands on either side of Galo’s face, ducks down for a kiss.

Galo’s hands move to Lio’s thighs, travel up the skin under the basketball shorts, grasp the muscle, tug upward gently. “Will you come up a little further?”

By moving two or three inches toward Galo’s face, Lio’s effectively sitting on his chest now, bracing his legs on the sofa under them. Galo’s breathing under him very steadily and grinning, more red-faced now than ever.

Back to the topic at hand. Lio traces the back of his hand over Galo’s cheek, trying to parse Galo’s talk. “So you wanna do physical training with me?” The idea’s certainly spiking _something_ in Lio. The idea of Galo’s muscles straining under a difficult weight, or under a hard task, at Lio’s behest, makes his mind light up. He licks his lips. “How many push-ups can you do without taking a break?”

Galo’s eyes go wide, alight with curiosity. “85. I mean, that’s not what I was talking about, but also, keep going?”

Lio pushes pale bangs out of his face. Then, quite saucily: “Are those 85 with perfect form? Chest to floor?”

Galo _grins_. “What’re you gonna do if they’re not?”

Lio takes a shaky inhale; Galo rubs his hips in those same soothing circles, over the clothes, though surely he must be able to see Lio’s growing hard-on devastating the topography of his shorts. “Make you restart?” Lio offers. “Or I could put a foot on your back. Or—” —why are words so _hard_ , why are feelings so _overwhelming_ —

“Yeah?” Galo asks. “Please tell me, Lio, I wanna know.”

This man’s so perfectly good Lio’s finding it hard to breathe.

“I could hit you, if that’s cool. Spank your ass, or the backs of your thighs—”

“ _God_ ,” Galo intones, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and lets his mouth part.

That look on Galo’s face is like a match to a tank of gas. The haze of power Lio’s been gathering inside him combusts in a flash, and it goes directly to his brain, do not pass GO. Suddenly everything makes perfect sense according to an entirely new logic. Suddenly Lio _feels_ the fact that Galo, braced under his legs, has given him power, even in this small amount. He can practically taste Galo’s willingness.

And Lio’s hungry.

“Tell me what _you_ mean by training, baby,” Lio says, dragging the back of a knuckle down Galo’s cheek.

Galo takes in a deep breath, laboured because of Lio’s weight. His eyes are perfectly dark, the iris nearly overtaken by the pupil. “Kinda like your version, except like. I want to learn how to do all your favourite things,” Galo whispers, like it’s their secret. “Sex things or not. I want you to tell me how to do them better. How I can do them _the best_. You don’t have to be nice about it either.” He swallows; Lio watches his Adam’s apple bob, wants to bruise it, wants to sink his teeth into all that thick throat until Galo cries. It’s so much. It’s so very much.

“You like challenge,” Lio whispers, and lays a soft kiss on Galo’s mouth.

“Y-yeah,” Galo says weakly. “Challenge me. Make me do what you like me to. Teach me to be better at it. Retrain me from the ground up. Punish me when I do it wrong, reward me when I’m right, and when you’re satisfied I know how to do ‘em your way every time, I’ll be perfectly yours.” His chest strains under Lio; his face is red; Lio leans back, feels him rock-hard and hot against his palm.

“ _Galo,_ ” Lio says, overwhelmed, and kisses him, and readjusts himself so that he can be alongside Galo’s body, so that he can reach into those sweatpants and take Galo’s bare cock in hand. “Galo, baby,” he says as he strokes him, unable to really form words. He’ll have to parse his way through all of this later.

Galo comes with something halfway between a gasp and a whine shaped around the word _please_ , and Lio gets the unparalleled gift of having this enormous man curl into him against his chest, gasping, very much in need of holding. Well, no—not unparalleled. The subsequent gift of Galo, kneeling, with his toes peeking out from under his backside, taking Lio to the back of his throat, making eye contact so that Lio comes with a shout? That’s up there, too.

***

They shower, eat dinner—Galo cooks a beautiful meal for them, rice with greens and pickled veggies and braised pork that he dismisses as though it’s basic—and curl up on the sofa in a pile of blankets to watch _Terminal Revenge 3: Final Payback_. Despite the ridiculous premise of the franchise—a hotshot air traffic controller goes rogue, joining forces with various other types of hard-boiled transportation professionals in an action-packed quest against corruption—the third film surprises Lio by being his favourite of the three they’ve seen. The fighting is better choreographed, for one thing. In the first one you could see it when the actors were pulling their punches.

It’s the perfect interlude. They get to reconnect after a pretty intense sexual moment, for one thing. For another, Lio gets to see which jokes make Galo guffaw and which one-liners make him bellow “YEAH” at the screen. He gets to see Galo getting misty over the found-family plotline, which honestly strikes home for both of them, though Lio’s not as good at suspending disbelief as Galo is and is still too caught up in understanding the premise.

Still, it’s a fun movie to take apart in his head. By the end of it, Galo’s in tears. Lio nearly understands why, and holds him while he sheds his tears.

“They just love transportation so much,” Galo mumbles into Lio’s blanket nest. “And each other. So inspiring.”

Lio laughs at him through his nose. He’s so good it’s ridiculous.

“Were you okay with earlier?” he asks Galo, through hair-scritches.

“With—? With how you dirty talked to me?” Galo catches Lio’s hand in his own to kiss the fingertips. “God, yeah. You coulda been way meaner.”

“Does any of that stuff actually interest you?”

Galo laughs and burrows deeper into Lio’s blanket nest where he’s laying across it. “All of it does.”

Lio returns his hand to Galo’s hair. Galo queues up _Terminal Revenge 4: Rail Against The Machine_ , which Lio gathers pretty quickly is about trains gone haywire. With the taste of Galo’s enthusiasm fresh in him, in the moments where Lio lets his imagination wander, Lio lets it wander just a little further and more freely than before.

***

Right before they settle into sleep together in the bedroom, Galo grabs his tablet and fiddles with something before passing it over to Lio, who’s got the safety-orange blanket slung across his hips and a book about human rights law in his hands.

“Hm?” Lio dog-ears his page and takes the tablet. “A questionnaire?”

“My column’s here, obviously,” Galo says, pointing at the column on the right, which says _Galo_ at the top. A column for Lio is on the left. Each column is divided into three boxes: _Yes_ , _No_ , and _Maybe_.

Lio’s not sure what he’s looking at until he peers up at the title of the document, at the top of the screen. _Lio and Galo’s TOP SECRET KINK CHECKLIST_. Ah. Of course.

“You might wanna change the filename if you’re trying to make it top secret,” Lio muses, and hands the tablet back.

Galo puts his chin against the side of Lio’s head and snuggles right up to his hip, tablet in hand. “You put the things you definitely wanna try in ‘yes’, things you would never ever want us to do in ‘no’, and stuff you’re not sure about in ‘maybe’. It’s kind of basic but it’s like, a communication tool.”

“So not a checklist, then?”

“Liooooo.”

Lio gestures at the screen. “I’ve built an entire life on breaking down systems! Sometimes you need to give me the latitude to critique!”

“The only lats I know are right here, baby,” Galo says, smacking a hand on his underarm, where, indeed, his latissimus dorsi pokes through his loose-fitting blue tank top. He’ll have shed that by the time they wake up.

“Oh my _god_ I love you so much,” Lio says, in his mild annoyance, and puts the fingertips of both hands on his temples to shut out Galo’s shit-eating grin so he can focus on the sheet. “You didn’t write anything down on this.”

“You’re the baseline. You go first. I’ll add on, I don’t want you to feel like you need to rise up to meet me, or that you have any obligation to match to my kinks, or whatever.” _Smack_ as he puts a wet kiss on the back of Lio’s neck. “But like, if a blank page is a problem for any reason, we can talk instead. Accessibility! Learned about that doing fire safety education.”

“So this is my fate. Forced to go down in history as having written down ‘Galo’s idiotic brain’ in the _yes_ column.”

Galo _beams_. “You already said you love me, no backsies.”

“Hm,” says Lio, and selects his _yes_ column. He inputs the word _spanking_ after a moment’s hesitation, almost like a test, like he’s trying something out.

Seeing it written down, out in the world, on the page, shared, shared with _the person he wants to do it to_ , is a fucking mind trip.

He looks over, sees only the full force of Galo’s smile. When Galo grabs his arm, grins into his shoulder, and reaches for the tablet to add the same item to his own column, Lio lights again. He’s gotten too goddamn lucky for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK U ALL FOR UR NICE COMMENTS SO FAR this has been very fun to write so far and Im glad ur liking it !! also, yeah, lio is apparently a thigh guy


	4. Chapter 4

Lio takes his time with the list. Galo doesn’t rush him. It’s a few weeks of opening the document on his tablet, a hand-me-down(up?) from one of Varys’s kids, and peering at the boxes for a moment only to get side-tracked by Burnish affairs. There’s always something happening over at the Prometh Lake Community Council (as they’ve taken to calling it this month) that needs his attention, and Galo knows he’s got priorities. So he doesn’t push.

They fill the time with good things, though: still wildly enjoyable off-list sex that lets them get to know one another better; lazy early-morning makeouts to help ease their way into 24-hour shifts; laughing quickies on their way out the door because now that he has him, Lio can’t keep his hands off Galo to save his life.

The reverse is true, too. Galo’s affection is constant and welcome. Kisses on the top of Lio’s head while he’s cleaning the kitchen, which he does whenever Galo cooks as a matter of fair exchange. The delivery of a hoodie whenever Galo spots Lio unconsciously crumpling in his posture to conserve heat. One time, Lio’s grabbing water in the tiny kitchen while Galo’s cooking and listening to music, but then finds himself being swept up into a partner dance. Galo takes him around the waist, links their hands, tugs him into a shuffle, lip-syncs to the music. Lio’s so embarrassed by how earnest it is that he has to duck his face into Galo’s collarbone, but he keeps his feet moving under them for the rest of the song.

It’s so weird, after so long in hiding and on the run, to engage in anything normal. A full-blown romance wasn’t one of the things Lio would have put on his list of things to be done after crushing Foresight, but here he is, here they are. Meis and Gueira see it on him, and he sees their surprise on them when they get together every couple of days to talk Council issues. Things like, “You look like you’re sleeping,” or “Get him to sign off on something important, this is the chillest I’ve ever seen him.”

Not _all_ the credit is owed to Galo—saving the world, dismantling Foresight, and not being in a constant state of emergency are as a whole the main cause—but he’s where Lio’s mind wanders to first.

The list grows slowly, like a plant, and Galo exercises deep patience, it seems to Lio, in not filling it up immediately with his own stuff. Lio has to dig deep to feel okay writing some things down, though. Things like _spanking, biting, scratching,_ these are things that could plausibly be vanilla enough to write down right away. Things like _fighting, domination, begging, bondage,_ these are things it takes him longer to put down, even though he knows the words for them. Stuff like _degradation, orgasm control, edging,_ and other stuff he's still figuring out how to express, these things he doesn’t have exact vocabulary for until he does research. And boy, does he do research.

 _Temperature play_ is basically a given. He’s a little surprised when he sees Galo put the same thing on his own list, which includes things like _milking_ (Lio has no idea what that is), _obedience, punishment & reward_ (as they’ve already discussed), _crying,_ and _getting the shit kicked out of me_.

They’re eating take-out on the sofa in their lazy clothes when Lio finds that new item on Galo’s list, the tablet in his lap as he balances a slice of pizza in his off-hand. “I would’ve thought with your scarring that. You know.”

Galo turns down the volume on the soccer game and turns toward Lio (is _Galo’s attention fully on me_ a kink? Should he write that down in the “yes” column?). The shiny red puckering on his arm, visible here and now while Galo wears nothing but shorts and a t-shirt (last year’s official Burning Rescue Summer Camp tee), is still pretty new, from what Lio understands. 

“Scroll down to the ‘no’s,” Galo says, flicking his finger like he’s using an imaginary tablet in front of him.

Lio does. Ah—there it is. _Scarring—pls avoid,_ it says. They’ve had enough sex by know for Lio to know that Galo doesn’t like having it touched because the nerve damage makes it feel weird to him.

Lio looks up at him. “So anywhere else is fine? And is heat okay, or just cold?” His heart flutters wickedly in his chest at the prospect of—no. Hold off till Galo confirms.

“Heat’s good,” Galo says, kind of shyly, shrugging his shoulders up around his ears like he’s making himself smaller. He’s _so cute_. Lio wants to rough him up so bad.

Still. He furrows his brow. “It’s not too close to work stuff for you? You deal with heat and cold all the time at work.”

“Nah. It’s completely different. I don’t go to work for the sensation of it.”

Lio has to fucking _rearrange himself in his seat_. “Hm,” he says, very helpfully. “Okay.”

Now Galo’s scooching over to wrap himself around Lio, and Lio can feel him grinning into his hair. “You’re gettin’ hot off this, huh.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Lio grouses. “I’m just trying to make sure there’s enough separation that it’s comfortable for you if I—bring stuff into a scene.”

“Hell yeah. It’s like—” Galo rests his chin on Lio’s head while choosing his words, then: “It’s like when you were leading revolutionaries, right, it wasn’t a sex thing for you to boss people around.”

Lio nods, feels quiet in the memory like he’s paying respect to his past. “Not at all. That was survival.”

“Right. Same deal with me at work.”

“Yeah.”

“Kink is like, ninety percent mindset,” says Galo, squeezing Lio around the midsection. “The scene changes stuff. Stuff that wouldn’t be sexy in other places suddenly turns sexy, partly because it’s safe and private to experiment. You feel me?”

Lio shuts his eyes and leans back into Galo’s hold. “I do.”

Galo mouths at the back of his ear and taps the corner of the tablet with the fingernail. “Should add those details to my box. Heat and cold both good.”

Being that he’s a better typist than Galo, Lio doesn’t so much mind being secretary. He enters the requested information, then shifts over to his box where he’s written _temperature play_ too, enters _heat and cold_ , and then, after taking a deep breath, also under “yes”, puts _wax play_.

“Yes yes okay yeah,” Galo breathes, voice hot and deep in his ear, as he watches Lio type. “Oh fuck.”

“Focus, Galo,” Lio says, resolutely ignoring the half-erection swelling at his hip and the calloused fingers dusting down his front. “We’re doing very hot administrative work for our sex life here.”

Galo hum-whines into his shoulder. “I just want you to fuck me up so bad.”

A hot shudder runs up through Lio’s spine, catching him by surprise, and he smashes one hand on the keyboard by accident, tidily adding _9oko jml9;um_ to his “no” list in the process. “ _Galo_ ,” he says, patting the man’s thigh with one hand in reproach. “You’re distracting me.”

Again Lio feels a grin forming, this time against the back of his neck. “Is it working, boss?”

Lio can’t stifle a laugh. “Shut _up_ , oh my god, I’m reviewing the ‘no’s.”

With a smooch, Galo pulls back obligingly. “The most important part.”

Blushing, Lio backspaces his keysmash and thumbs over the _no_ list. Galo’s not wrong when he says it’s the most important part. Lio knows he’d get angry if he himself were restrained or play-kidnapped, so he’s got those on his “no” list. He and Galo have talked about it. They’ve also talked about Galo not wanting public sex or multiple partners. They share a distaste for scat, and a few other things besides; it’s just good to have them out on the table.

To his _no_ section Lio adds: _uniforms (military and police)_.

“Oh, yeah,” Galo breathes, and nods, again so that Lio can feel it on his shoulder. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah, it—didn’t occur to me until I read that some people are really into that. The power of research.” 

Galo hums appreciatively. “It’s so freaking cool to me that you’re so into this that you’re _researching_.”

Lio shores himself up and says a very real thing: “I take the act of fucking you up very seriously.”

In response, Galo makes an _oof_ noise and ducks his head to Lio’s shoulder. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” he whines.

Okay. Okay. Lio makes a decision. Clicks the tablet screen off, sets it aside.

“Sure. Yeah. We’ve talked about it for weeks, let’s do something.”

Galo sits _right up_ , grabs the remote, turns it over and around, and shuts off the TV even though the score is close and the game’s nearly over. He scrapes his hands through his loose, soft hair, bringing it all together over one shoulder. “Hi! Yes! I’m your boyfriend and I’m one thousand percent here for _doing something!_ ” He gives two thumbs up.

Lio raises both hands. “I don’t mean a full-on scene, we’re kind of too horny to negotiate something super involved and I would want to prep—but like—biting?” He hooks his gaze into Galo’s.

“ _Please,_ ” Galo says, his spine dissolving a bit in its uprightness. “I’ve been thinking about that thigh thing since you mentioned it. Me going to work with my legs all messed up under my clothes like it’s a secret.”

Galo’s earnest, melting, and they haven’t even _done anything_. Lio’s power-brain is already flickering into light.

But first, he points his chin at the kitchen. “Can you get us some water and juice boxes? I’ll get the bedroom ready.”

“YES I CAN,” Galo bellows, and jets for the kitchen, nearly knocking over two chairs and coatrack on the way.

Lio brims with possibility as he locates the lube, just in case, and spreads a towel like a dropcloth onto the bed. He’s going to _do this_. Galo’s going to _let him_ , to the point of asking for it. Terror and heat and desire flush through him as he wonders whether Galo’s face will look the way he’s imagined it when Lio finally begins to hurt him.

“Ohhhh I’m so messed up,” Lio mutters into his hands, before pulling them back through his hair, but he’s ready, he’s ready, fuck but he’s ready for this.

***

Naked, head and shoulders braced against a bolster of pillows, Galo spreads his legs and lifts his feet off the bed and grins at Lio in welcome like he _wants_ Lio to psychologically combust.

“Okay. No roles,” Lio says as he touches one of Galo’s knees, the barest pressure, to which Galo lets his thigh fall open. _Focus, Lio._ “We’re just having fun. I’ll bite you, then—finish with oral, probably.”

“You don’t need to detail everything, firebug,” Galo says, lacing his fingers together behind his neck. There’s that mischief in his alexandrite eyes, too, as he bites his lower lip. 

Hunger flashes in Lio: the wild, animal need to wipe that look off Galo’s face and replace it whole-cloth with something of his own making.

“Didn’t take you for a brat,” Lio hums, then scoots up between his legs, pointedly ignoring the erection on Galo’s belly. He sets his hand on one warm thigh; Galo braces his arms and elbows on the bed under them; Lio looks up. Galo is _watching_ him, intently, brimming with anticipation. 

Lio swallows. Traces his fingers along that inner thigh. Locates his spot. Ducks his head. Galo’s thigh jumps under his lips when Lio kisses it tenderly, with tongue.

“Hah,” Galo breathes, chest heaving with surprise. “I was totally ready for you to—”

Then _teeth_.

“FUCK, OW,” Galo yells, his thigh shaking under Lio’s mouth.

Gratification blooms in Lio like ink spreading in water. Another few seconds digging gently in and he pulls off to the sight of a mark on that thigh. Red on tan. The indents of teeth. Lio traces the mark with his thumb, feels it wet with spit.

“ _Hah,_ ” Lio breathes in his turn, then licks his lips. He glances up at Galo, who’s breathing harder than before, and whose attention is fixed on him completely.

Lio thinks he could very happily be the pin to keep Galo’s butterfly stuck like this.

Still, he thinks to ask: “That was a good yell?”

Galo nods like sixteen times in rapid succession. “Yeah. Yes. Yes it was. More surprise than pain.” He holds Lio’s gaze, swallows. “You can be even meaner. More please.”

Lio puts his head back down and surveys this thigh-shaped territory for his next target, a hum of adrenaline buzzing through him even as he feels steadier than he’s felt in a long time. “No roles,” he reiterates, dragging his hands up and down Galo’s thighs in a soothing rhythm, “but it’d be cool if you begged me for it.”

“Please, fuck, please,” Galo says, fingers digging into the towel under him. “Please, Lio, I’ll do anything, please hurt me— _ah, ow_ —”

Lio inhales the smell of sweat and skin and levies another bite into the opposite thigh, starts with a suckle then digs his teeth in hard, and thinks to himself that this is better than the dream. Better beyond words.

***

He does fuck Galo up, but given how hard Galo’s been letting him work, Lio’s jaw starts to hurt. Even high on the glow in his brain he can feel fatigue in the muscle.

When Lio pulls back to survey his work, Galo’s loose and relaxed on the pillows and bedspread, his thighs open and red with marks. His cock leaks lazily onto his belly. One hand’s open beside his head, the other tracing a slow circle over one pec. The man looks—hazy, blissed out, beautiful without compare. He’s smiling. Lio can’t get over the fact that he’s _smiling_. It makes his own raging erection even worse, if that’s even physically possible.

“What’s next?” Galo hums.

“You’re so good,” Lio blurts uncontrollably. “You’re so good. How did you get so good. What the fuck.”

Galo’s smile spreads into a grin. He tucks his face into the crook of his own arm. “ _Lio._ ”

“You really get off on pain, huh?” Lio still doesn’t quite believe it.

“Brain’s wired different,” Galo says. “This is nothing. Wait till you get me into subspace.”

Lio swallows and wipes spit from his chin. “You’re not—so you’re not under, then.” He’s absolutely parched, reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table.

Galo barks a laugh. “Sorry, firebug, it takes more than that. You’ll know I’m under when I stop talking.” He reaches up to smooth Lio’s hair back from his face a bit. “We’ll get there, no hurry. I still feel fucking amazing, if that helps?” As punctuation he spreads his legs a little more, a feat of flexibility for someone who’s always getting flak for a lack of it from Ignis during workouts.

After downing half the water Lio feels better, if humbled. His cheeks heat as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good to know.” He looks down at them both, sets the glass aside, starts climbing off Galo to rearrange himself and shoo Galo further down the bed. “Sixty-nine?”

As he is bidden, Galo scoots. “Fuck yeah,” he says, rolling onto his side, and then “I win!” when Lio lines himself up for the oral ahead. Lio has to turn his face aside from Galo’s cock to snicker at Galo’s ridiculousness first, but then, okay, then they get down to it. He can feel Galo, mouth full, laughing into his pubic bone. It’s stupid, Lio thinks, but the laughter somehow pushes Lio’s power-high even higher.

Later, when he’s in a post-orgasmic doze with Galo drinking a juicebox in his arms, the memory of that laughter causes him to rank this among his top five fucks of all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, u fiends !! might need to add a 7th chapter we'll see


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (picks up pretty much where last chapter ended)

In his arms, having finished his juicebox, Galo is a perfect heartbeat. But soon enough he tips his head back and looks up at Lio with pleading eyes: “Gettin’ cold.” 

Lio’s responsible, so he braves the chill of the room to extract the towel from under Galo, tuck him in, and grab him a clean pullover and pyjama pants from the closet. Next time, Lio thinks, as he helps a sighing Galo dress and get back in under the covers, he’ll pick out the pyjamas as part of the prep. He can empathize with being cold in the warmth. 

In the quiet kitchen, he refills their water, gets a snack for them to share—cheez-its and a protein bar in birthday cake flavour—and grabs another juicebox just in case. Arms full, he heads back to the bedroom, puts everything down on the bedside table, and dresses before climbing in with Galo for a solid bit of spooning. 

Galo eventually turns over, his hair flopping over from one shaved side to the other as he goes. Like this, on their sides, curled up, they’re like two symmetrical halves of a heart. 

“What did you like about that?” Galo asks. 

“I—” It’s such a simple question, but it makes Lio go warm anyway. This whole type of thing is such an exercise in vulnerability that it’s hard even to get started. 

“Obviously I liked hurting you,” Lio says, just to have somewhere to start. 

Galo grins sleepily, laughs into the pillow under his cheek. “Obviously. But like, be more specific.” 

“Is this an exam?” 

“Think of it as a yelp review, but for sex, and nobody else gets to see it.” 

“I gotta get my brain in gear. Protein bar?” 

Galo wiggles slowly in his blanket burrito. “Yes please.” Of _course_ he’d want to be doted on. 

After splitting the bar between them, Lio, chewing, tries to process the question against his actual experience. Artificial birthday cake flavour bursts into his mouth like sugary perfume as he chews. The artificial sweetener tastes weird as fuck combined with semen. 

“I liked how you let me do things. You’re so expressive, too; it’s like I put my teeth on you and you do everything you can to let me know how it feels.” Lio touches Galo’s hair with his free hand, a reminder of closeness. “I liked that you were so candid. Not that you’re ever not candid, or not honest, it’s just—you were candid and honest about a thing that feels messed up, and it was really cool to be the sole recipient of that honesty.” 

Galo chews his frosting-flavoured snack. He’ll get crumbs on the pillow like this, eating with his face half-mashed on the bedding, but Lio can compromise with the idea of changing the bedding in the morning. “I liked how you went right for the inner thigh, that part fucking _hurts_ ,” Galo says, then tucks the whole damn half of the protein bar into his mouth. Chew chew chew, then, muffled by his own food: “You’re a bit of a sadist and I freaking love it.” 

A cooling relief passes through Lio. Gratitude, even. He strokes Galo’s hair, settles deeper into the bed. “I know I just talked up your honesty, but like—when you beg like that, do you—mean it? That you want it worse? Or is it just talk?” 

“Mm, in the moment it’s what I want,” Galo says. “But just cause I say I want it harder or meaner doesn’t mean you should give it to me. You’re still starting out. Calibrating, like.” 

“Hm.” Lio sweeps a thumb over a blue eyebrow. “And also I can’t just give you everything you want as and when you want it. I’m supposed to be in charge, right?” He dips a kiss to Galo’s forehead, feels the man—unaccountably—relax. 

“Right,” Galo breathes, mouth stretching into a dopey grin. “And sometimes I fuck up asking for more than I can actually handle.” 

Lio frowns, hand stilling in his hair. “In a fun way, I hope?” 

Galo’s grin falls. “Usually, but I’ve played with a couple tops who’ve fucked up, too. It happens, it’s why we have safewords, but you gotta like, be responsible. Pay attention and check in and stuff.” He burrows his head against Lio’s belly. “You’re gonna get so many damn skills, I can’t wait.” 

Lio swallows. “Thanks for trusting me,” he says after a moment, heart yawing wildly inside him. It was not so long ago that there was no trust between them at all. 

“Aw, firebug,” Galo hums, and sets a hand gently around Lio’s wrist. “We’re starting real good. You don’t even know yet how good it’ll be. It’s just gonna get better and better.” 

Even having been given the amount of power he has been, it’s impossible for Lio not to feel tiny in the face of Galo’s adoration. Overcome, he floats himself down and dabs Galo’s face with more kisses, and it’s so easy. Here he can be wild-hearted and free and it's taking some getting used to. 

“Tell me what I can do better,” Lio says once he’s gathered himself, tracing Galo’s cheekbone with a knuckle. 

Galo strokes his thumb on the inside of Lio’s wrist once, then lets go. “I gotta teach you about communicating with pain gauges, man.” He holds his hands about a metre apart. “So, like, imagine there’s this scale from one to ten—” 

*** 

The next morning, Galo comes shivering out of a shower so cold Lio can practically feel it from the kitchen. 

“Heat dilates the blood vessels, can worsen bruising,” Galo explains, chattering as he hurriedly hobbles past to put clothes on. 

Lio’s a very nice person, so only laughs at him, like, a bit. 

*** 

Also, Galo's bruises are fucking _amazing_ once they develop, mottled purple and green. Lio spends a lot of time with Galo and said bruises and a tube of arnica cream, but also a lot of alone time with a bottle of lotion thinking about said bruises. So to speak.

*** 

One day, a couple of weeks later, Galo is on a volunteer shift and Lio’s not. Lio showers, puts on clothes, feeds himself, reads the news, gets on calls with Burnish activists across the ocean, cleans the bathroom and bedroom, and then sets himself to practice. 

And so, of course, that’s how Galo finds Lio after work: in the bedroom, blaring a dancey album with a heavy beat, wailing on a stack of cushions using a pillowcase as a flail, tongue sticking out between his teeth as he tries to find new ways of whipping his target. The whole thing, using his elbow, grants more of a thud. Quick flicks of a shorter length of fabric allow for more precision work. 

Galo laughs so hard at the sight he nearly brings the building down around them, which of course Lio takes as a provocation to chase him with the pillowcase, whipping it loosely at his backside, and then before he knows it they’re playfighting around the apartment, yelling at one another: “ _Get back here!_ ” “ _Fuck no!_ You’re—hah—armed and dangerous—and so cute—you’re _so cute_ with your li’l pillowcase flogger—” “Galo Thymos, I will _destroy you_ —” “ _You’re gonna have to actually beat me first—_ ” 

Eventually the tables turn, and Galo tackles Lio onto the sofa. Sure they do cardio, but it’s been awhile since they’ve had to dodge anything while doing hand-to-hand combat, even if in this case all it was was the living room furniture, so they’re both breathless, in a fun way. 

Like this, Lio’s got his back on the sofa cushions and his knees hooked over the arm of the sofa; Galo’s over him, hands braced on the cushions, knees to either side of Lio’s calves, tiptoes somewhere on the floor behind. Lio wriggles under him; Galo ducks his head to blow a wet raspberry on his neck and Lio _flares_. 

He takes Galo by the chin—gently, so it doesn’t hurt, but firmly, holding eye contact. “Brat,” he says. “I sure would like to.” 

Still breathless, Galo’s first instinct is to ask, quite innocently: “Hah?” 

Lio pats his cheek. “Actually beat you.” 

Galo freezes for a second to register the change in mood, but then he’s all mischief and sparkle. “I dunno if you can, boss,” he says; “you’re kinda not in a position to do _anything_ right now, never mind beat me.” 

Never letting loose the eye contact, Lio lifts one leg and drags the blade of his shin up Galo’s crotch until his foot is hooked in behind Galo’s balls. He applies the gentlest upward pressure, then quickly tightens his leg muscle—not quite a kick, more a thinly veiled threat. “No?” 

“Hnnng,” Galo utters, right into Lio’s collarbone, and lets his legs dissolve under him so that the sofa arm has to catch him by the pelvis. 

That puts the spark to Lio’s engine. 

“Too easy.” Lio pets Galo’s hair, still styled for work, and moves his mouth to talk into his ear. He licks his lips, heat rumbling in him already. “You didn’t think I was serious, practicing on that pillow, did you.” Now his hand goes into Galo’s spikes; he closes it into a fist right against the scalp. “Seems you’ve already forgotten just how serious I _can_ be, Galo Thymos. What’s it been? Eight months since I last beat you to a pulp? Shall I refresh your memory?” 

Galo’s breathing shakes, and he exhales a word like it’s part of how his lungs work: “ _Lio._ ” 

Right. Excellent. Lio lets go of blue hair and presses at Galo’s shoulders. “Up.” 

Galo lurches to his feat heavily, steadies himself with one hand on the back of the sofa. He looks at Lio, face red all the way down into his shirt, and swallows. 

_Right. Excellent._

“Get us some water,” Lio says, dropping out of character. Better to proceed slowly. “Let’s talk first.” 

Lio’s used vending machines that operate slower than Galo moves to fulfill the request. Before he knows it he’s got his water and Galo’s seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa, hydrating like he’s just run a marathon. 

“I didn’t know my leadership persona got you so excited.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Galo asks, wiping his mouth with his arm. “Why do you think I call you ‘boss’ when I’m horny??” 

“It didn’t occur to me that _that_ was why!” 

“Are you saying you didn’t find anything sexy about our fights like _at all?_ There was chemistry from jump, babe!” 

“Uh, I was kind of trying to execute a plan to save an entire population of people from being harvested for the benefit of a genocidal billionaire?? Also, hate to break it to you, but your suit was _not_ as sexy as my armour.” 

“You—” Galo’s on his hands and knees now, nearly surging up towards Lio. “Take that back, Lucia worked so hard to make me look awesome!” 

Lio extends both hands, sets the fingertips on Galo’s shoulders, taps him lightly; says “Sh”; watches Galo sink to kneeling with a put-out exhale. 

“I take it back, only for Lucia’s sake,” Lio says, measured, “and so that we can get back on track.” He sips his water, then declares: “Teach me how to spank you.” 

“YES,” Galo bellows, still riding the wacky energy of their mini-fight, until, Lio thinks, he realizes the neighbours are probably going to hear him. 

“Uh, yes,” he says, quieter this time. “Proposition accepted.” 

An anticipatory shiver takes Lio from belly to head. The temples, the backs of his ears tingle. 

“Great.” Lio runs a hand down the side of Galo’s face. “We should maybe do it in the bed, with you over my lap. Just with my bare hand, I think? Plus sexual touches in there too.” 

“Yeah, basics,” says Galo, quieting even more, settling into his posture, not letting his eyes stray from Lio’s. “You can put on your gloves if your hands get achy. And I’d be down for you testing a paddle out if you want.” 

“Note taken.” Yep, that’s a downstairs twitch, that’s fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s very good. “You’ll help me calibrate, yeah? Like we talked about?” 

“Yeah. Ten being the worst you can give me, and if I reach it, we reset our one.” Galo’s _glowing_ and like, it’s almost unfair? It’s hard to look at him, he’s so bright. 

But Lio persists, because he’s taking responsibility for this, and that power is a fucking gift. “I figure I'll go gentle,” he says. “Goal being learning, not making you cry.” 

Mock disappointment: “Okayyyy. Smart call.” Eagerness: “You remember where it’s okay to work on me?” 

Yes, Lio remembers, arousal smacking him dead in the face, where it’s safe to hit him. As a mini research project, he’d gotten a tube of smudge-proof magenta lipstick and used it to trace the outlines of the areas that are safe to hit right on Galo’s naked body. Then Galo had indicated his favourite spots, offering after offering, and Lio had traced those over a second time. Easily one of the most intimate things he’s ever done. 

He reaches to gently squeeze the top of Galo’s left pec. “I remember, baby.” Indeed, it’ll be difficult for him ever to forget. 

And like the light of Lio’s life that he is, Galo beams. “Are you gonna be Mister Big Boss while you do it?” 

Lio raises his eyebrows. “Like, roleplay?” 

“Not really, you’re still playing yourself, but like—like you were doing just now. Being a little mean to me. Pushing me around. _Boss_ Lio.” 

“I can do that, sweetheart,” says Lio. “I won’t call you any names, I don’t think. Still kind of keeping it light. Focused on the spanking part.” 

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re learning so good, though.” Then Galo turns his head towards the bedroom door— “I don’t doubt your capability or nothing, but you got your aftercare stuff all handled?” 

Patting at Galo’s spiky work hair, Lio says, “I’ll finish getting everything together while you shower.” 

Galo reaches for Lio’s hair-patting hand. Drags it down. Nudges his cheek into it. Looks up at Lio through his eyelashes. “Thank you, _sir,_ ” he says, because he’s actually a sex demon with an evil plan to make Lio’s favourite joggers explode. 

Lio takes a laboured breath. “Get going, you monster.” 

With a hard exhale Lio breaks the moment and falls back against the sofa cushions. Galo crows with laughter and hops up to standing, wobbles only for an impressive half-second, and then bounds away for the shower. 

And so it is that in the last threads of the early evening sunset, Lio Fotia begins to review his trousseau and prepare a bower in which to accept his lover; because damn, if that’s not what it feels like, getting ready all fancy and shit. Getting the snacks, the supplies, the hydration together, it feels cheesy, like a wedding night. Like he’s preparing to grant his virginity to Galo as a gift, which, politically, ew. It’s just a spanking, not a fucking milestone in the life course. He doesn’t need to wear a wedding suit or even show off. 

Still. Fuck it. He puts his fucking leather pants on. 

*** 

With Galo across his lap like this, naked, hair down and shower-damp, backside round and rosy, back flexing out and in as he takes carefully measured breaths, Lio feels uncannily serene. He drags fingernails in circles over the nearest asscheek, breaking the capillaries just enough to warm the skin. To make it ready. 

He traces the softest part of Galo’s ass where it’s warm under his palm. “What do you say if you need to stop?” 

“Mmmmmred,” Galo mumbles into his arms. 

Lio pinches him on the meat, winning a tiny choked-off noise as Galo tenses under him. “Try again.” 

“I’ll say _red._ Yellow to slow down or talk.” Galo puts his forehead back on his arms, and even that tiny surrender makes him look like a fucking work of art. Acres and acres of carefully gym-honed muscle, heavy and warm across Lio’s lap, available just to him for— _this_. It’s almost overwhelming. 

But he’s got a job to do. 

“Good,” he says, and drags his fingers down between Galo’s legs, over his ballsack, down over his stirring cock where it’s pinned between them; the reaction is priceless, a sublime little quiver of thighs and ass that should be hung up in a fucking museum. 

Deep breath. “I’m going to start at one, super gentle, do a few of those to test it out. Then you’ll tell me how much force you can take. Two is double one, three is triple, and so on.” He looks at the way the outline of his hand presses into Galo’s skin; the way Galo’s all relaxed for him, already having recovered from the pinch; it’s heady. Addictive, even. “Understood?” 

“Yeaaaaaaah.” Galo, in his boundless eagerness, wiggles his ass back and forth. Lio, playing fed up, strongarms him around the waist and pins Galo against his body. Another noise reaches him, this time a soft “ _ah_ ”. 

Lio doesn’t waste time, not after hearing that near-admission. He licks his lips, takes a deep breath, lets Galo’s weight anchor him. “Let’s fuck you up, Thymos.” 

*** 

Together they escalate. The first really genuine smack of his open palm against Galo’s pink, ready skin is like--it's like Lio's whole self has just woken up. 

And Galo’s reaction to it is a revelation. A flinch in the body, a small gasp, a breathless half-laugh almost like disbelief. His toes don’t curl, but he does shift his feet under him. 

And then he asks for more. 

*** 

Lio does put on the gloves, in the end, partly because he needs the backup, partly he wants to see and hear the sound of black leather against Galo’s reddening skin. It winds up being so good he can practically taste it. He can certainly feel it behind his eyes. 

Sometimes he digs his fingers in after smacking in, really hangs on to Galo’s meaty backside. Occasionally he dusts a touch down between Galo’s legs to watch him squirm. He pulls his punches a bit, though, heeding his own promise to make this gentler rather than rougher. Always he focuses on Galo, on netting gasps and groans rather than sobs, and on avoiding the tenderest places, the tailbone, the balls. 

But when Galo does request he go harder, he aims the center of his palm at Galo’s insides. Lio thinks he could live inside the way Galo’s muscle recoils. 

“ _Ah,_ ” Galo half-whines, spreading his legs a bit even though he’s not supposed to, grinding his bare cock onto Lio’s lap. 

“ _Down._ ” Lio pushes his elbow down into Galo’s back ribs. Little pressure, big payoff: Galo drops back down where he’s supposed to be. “You must really want me to total you. I didn’t think you were _that_ much of an idiot.” 

“Hah. The real idiot’s the one who thinks he can vanquish my burning soul with such a cute little spanking.” Big words, though. Galo’s breathing heavy and the position’s starting to wear on him. Even if the pain’s not getting at him, the exertion is. 

That said, they’ve both got a little more in them, Lio thinks. 

“You want this,” Lio says, delivering a light smack to one asscheek just to watch it shake. Jelly. “You _want_ this,” he says, and traces a finger down Galo’s hole. “You love being prone like this, and you love it more the harder I go,” he says, and strokes Galo’s cock, once, twice; feels him inhale deep and groan; feels him rock helplessly into it. Lets go. Watches his head drop in disappointment. “You delivered yourself into my hands specifically to receive this _cute little spanking_. You’re in control here. You set the gauge, and you keep wanting to set it higher than we’re meant to go tonight. So tell me again who the real idiot is, Thymos,” he says, and pulls Galo’s hair, still a little damp from his shower. 

He gets a full-body shudder as his reward. “Ffffuuuuck I wanna come. I wanna come, Lio, _Lio_ , please, please—” 

“Not yet, not after that display,” says Lio, and rests his hand flat on Galo’s backside. “Now give me a number.” 

*** 

He stops the play after the third set, feeling ready for more but like he got what he came to the session for: a first lesson in spanking, taught by an eager and obliging Galo, who’s now scooting around on his knees so they can be face-to-face. 

Lio swallows. Galo looks beautiful at even the worst of times, but like this, ass on his heels, he’s sublime: loose-limbed, hard as diamond, flush-faced, almost a little sleepy, grinning. Grinning his face off, actually, and idly touching his own torso while he waits for orders like he can’t help himself. 

There’s another reason Lio put his gloves on, and it’s because he wants to see Galo’s chin in his leather-clad palm. 

“ _Ah,_ ” Galo breathes when Lio takes hold of him. His eyes flutter shut so prettily when he’s like this. 

But. “Look at me, Thymos,” Lio says quietly. “Look at me so I can tell you properly how good you were.” 

Galo slides his eyes open and locks them with Lio’s. Lio doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of the colours in Galo’s eyes, the way they’re different in every light. Right now they’re dark, dark. “Ah? That so?” 

“That’s right.” Gently, gently Lio trails a hand up his thigh, just the fingertips, towards Galo’s erection. He traces the underside with barely any pressure—a fine tease, like he’s working with a paintbrush. “You gave me some attitude, but you taught me a lot tonight. You get credit for that.” 

“ _Hahh._ Amazing what you can learn fighting a perfectly matched opponent.” Galo’s smile is like the breaking dawn: slow, gradual, arrestingly beautiful. 

Lio’s fond of him, so fond—and so leans up to kiss him slowly, with gentle teeth. When Galo comes, it’s in Lio’s gloved fist, after a spontaneous request for and then granting of permission. Then white trails on black leather he'll have to look up how to clean later. When Lio comes, it’s astride Galo’s lap, Galo who’s back against the pillows, rubbing him through his pants and then stroking him off until he’s coming on Galo’s chest. Galo freaking _lifts his chin_ , exposes his _throat_ , lifts his chest into it, and when Lio blinks back into awareness after whiting out, all he sees is Galo’s blissful smile and the clear-white tracing a streak over his left nipple. 

“Fuck,” Lio breathes, brain golden and humming, and goes to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. 

This time, he has clean pyjamas on standby. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is so long and self-indulgent it's actually sad............................... I'm not apologizing but I'm also not NOT apologizing for spending 4k on this
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to mention that the lipstick was magenta. essential detail, I feel


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content note that this chapter is like. 5k of sexy working out, focused on the sensation of working and form. I was really careful not to mention weight loss and am hoping that didn't come in but if fitness for any reason isn't your jam this might be a chapter to skip !! please take care of yourself
> 
> there's also a small amount of discipline/punishment in this one, all negotiated beforehand. oh also in the last scene lio experiences top drop. overall pls tread carefully 🖤
> 
> alternate chapter title: lio gets a riding crop

Time passes. Some relevant developments occur:

(1)

Galo adds a new row to the sheet called “OH HELL YES”. The first item he adds to it is “LIO FOTIA IN LEATHER” followed by a keysmash’s worth of lewd emojis.

Lio finds it while they’re watching the succinctly-named _TERMINAL 5_ , in which the writers have thrown themselves completely off the rails (so to speak). In a bid to cash in on their film title’s medical potential, the writers have given the air traffic controller a serious illness he has twenty-four hours to cure, but the only doctor able to help him is the film’s femme fatale, who happens to be grounded at Terminal Number—well. It goes from there. Lio’s rather lost any taste he might have had for doctors and scientists suddenly switching sides after they’ve already done their damage, but he humours Galo, who sings along to every song on the soundtrack and feeds him trivia about how key scenes were filmed.

To keep himself focused Lio swipes around on the tablet and finds that their document has been updated today. He sees the line in question, reads it, takes it as a joke at first, laughs. Galo leans over to see what he’s reading, laughs as light-shapes from the television shift and dance over his face in the darkness of the living area.

“It’s not a joke! This is me discovering new kinks, developing them, even,” he says, in a bottomlessly horny way that makes Lio want to crush him into a diamond between his thighs.

Instead Lio just pecks him on the forehead. “Don’t blame this on me. This is your own dick’s doing.”

Lips find his neck, just a smooch, just a reminder that Galo’s there. “I’m just saying. I’m learning things from you, too, and I like it. Oh, hey,” he says suddenly, sitting up; “this is the scene where she does emergency surgery using landing gear repair tools—if you don’t wanna watch we can skip it—”

(2)

Galo’s on another long shift; Lio’s getting ready to host a games night for some of his organizer friends and Meis and Gueira. He’s in the middle of scrubbing the underside of the stovetop when he gets a brainwave, a graphic one, one that needs urgent writing down, mainly so that he can figure out how he’d rearrange the living-area furniture to accommodate it. Well, and so that Meis and Gueira don’t have to see him flustered. Last time that happened Lio barely made it out of the teasing alive.

Sitting down to type it out using the tablet makes his fingers curl reflexively away from the foldout keyboard. He’s not sure this is something he wants to potentially wind up on the internet. So when he’s at the grocery store picking up ingredients and supplies, he lets his hand hover over a spiral-bound lined notebook with a purple cover. 

He feels foolish, but either way the notebook winds up in his cart and then—once he’s done writing down his notes at fever pace—in the bottom of one of his drawers. He closes it with a near slam, like he’s loosing some venomous animal into nature and trying to avoid a bite, and he has to sit there holding his own hand for a minute, trying to process the feeling of shame chewing at his ribs.

It’s okay, he tells himself. This is what they both want. He calls up the image of Galo’s blissful face, the memory of the unhinged little noises Galo makes when he’s hurting, the way he has a tendency to press his body into the pain once the initial flinch has passed. The want is palpable, has been since they’ve been together.

It’s so much clearer to think ethics when there are lives at stake. Here, it’s just his heart and Galo’s. But it’s okay. They’ve agreed to what they’re getting into. It’s okay. It's cool.

(3)

Lio gets embroiled in (rather: embroils himself in; engages in embroilment of; fully embroils) a turf dispute between the Promepolis city council and the Prometh Lake Community Council over the public lands the latter is expropriating for agriculture purposes. Not every Burnish resident of Promepolis resides at Prometh Lake, _can’t_ , because only eight months out emergency housing is still being funded and built. But in the aftermath of Foresight and the detention facilities, they with their shared history seek one another out. He’ll do everything he can to make sure they have a place, between shifts at Burning Rescue doing more immediate disaster recovery support and his looking through law textbooks.

Before all this happened, Mad Burnish had been on a course to take whatever space they needed to settle on by force. But now they’re under the immediate eye of the law, and it’d require more resources than they’re currently able to rustle up on their own. It’s no end of frustrating to have to operate within systems that have only ever served to oppress. Meis and Gueira are fond of telling him the work of political change is long, lifelong even, that the world won’t change overnight. 

In fact it _did_ —just not in the way anyone would have expected.

For weeks leading up to the first Promepolis city budget meeting of the year, council work eats up his days off. Galo keeps himself busy during those times with extra volunteer shifts and visits with Aina and Lucia. Most days, whether work or “off”, Galo and Lio have to content themselves with snuggles. The exhaustion’s too much.

And so Lio counts off the days until the city budget meeting into Galo’s right pec every night. “Next week,” he says; then “four more days”; then “day after tomorrow”.

“Can’t wait,” Galo murmurs into his hair. “We’re gonna have—” —mouth stretching here into a yawn half the size of his head— “—we’re gonna have a blowout. I’ll make us a feast. We’ll sleep in till noon. Eat bakery-fresh bread.”

“’M make you do squats till you can’t do more,” Lio slurs, half asleep. “’ll be hot.”

Galo yawns, nuzzles into the crown of Lio’s head. “Weird but I’ll do it. Get to like. Do a workout but it’s a workout that fucks.”

“You’re so pretty and strong.” Lio pulls the blanket up around his neck. “I jus’ like to see how strong you are.”

A soft, laughing kiss to Lio’s forehead; then Galo shuts off the light; and just like that, Lio’s asleep.

*** 

The organizing pays off. Lio’s at work when the Prometh Lake amendments go through, sitting in the day room while playing the stream of the budget vote on the large-screen TV. Ignis and Remi are at least as into it as he is, for emergency services funding reasons, of course, especially given that the anti-Burnish taskforces are _still_ being dismantled and their funding redistributed. It’s just a question of seeing how that redistribution will shake out.

The others are there, too, since it’s between emergencies. Lucia and Vinny are chattering about using slime molds to model city rail lines, Aina’s reading world news, and Varys is doing damage control over the phone for his kid’s one-year birthday party.

The votes come through, lighting the screen up green, and Lio makes mental note of the red votes against—just a handful. They’ll be targets for research later. Other than that screen, though, there’s no fanfare, no confetti, no scream from the audience. Just on to the next item on the list.

But for Lio it’s relief that has him sinking into his seat. Working with the city isn’t a perfect solution, and Lio still distrusts them to follow through. But for now: celebration, and rest. The organizing can pick up again after the weekend. As it is, his body feels like a deflated balloon.

Ignis takes one look at him and says, “Go rest. We’ve got the coverage.”

Can’t say no to that. Lio heads for the dorms, cracking a massive yawn. The halls are quiet. Here, Lio can take a breath. It comes out sounding like a sigh.

On the way, he passes the gym with its glass doors, and there’s Galo in red tank and blue shorts, lying on a weight bench, feet flat on the floor, benching two massive dumbbells. Here at the end of his rope, after weeks of unavoidable sexual distance, it’s impossible not to watch Galo through the window, straining to control the dumbbells’ descent to either side of his pecs. To catch them on either side of him as low as he is physically capable of going, while still swiftly pushing up. There’s strain on his face, too: that deep concentration, that furrow in his brow, the grimace in his teeth.

Lio wants to hear the noises he’s making.

He’s so tired, he should absolutely be napping, but he heads into the fluorescent-lit gym space anyway.

Galo lets the dumbbells down to his chest, then drops them carefully onto the rubber mat under him. With him prone like this, it’s easy to see the heaving up-down of his chest. He comes up to his elbows to look at Lio; his face is wonderfully flushed. He’s wearing a fucking sweatband over his forehead. It shouldn’t be allowed to look that good.

“Heya,” Galo says with a sweaty smile, and mops himself off with a towel: face, throat, chest. “Did it go through?”

“A lot of it, yeah.” Standing beside Galo, Lio points a flat hand at Galo’s knees, gesturing side to side.

Galo laughs and spreads his legs, and Lio sinks down to sit on one thigh for a hug. “I’m sweaty gross,” he says, but kisses Lio’s forehead anyway. He smells like fresh clean sweat, like a sporty body spray, like gym: rubber and disinfectant.

Lio tucks his face into Galo’s pulsing throat, pecks the jugular. “Deal with it.” He sighs relief again. “Miss you.”

With a squeeze, Galo hums agreement. “Same. Same, babe.” This time he kisses the bridge of Lio’s nose, right between his eyes. “When we get home, once we’re all rested, once we’ve got a big meal in you, you can do whatever you want to me, how’s that for a deal.”

Right now Lio can think of nothing better. A close second is sitting here being held. They normally moderate their workplace PDA, but Lio’s heart needs connection right now. “Deal,” he murmurs.

Not being in a hurry to head anywhere, Lio lets Galo hold him a long minute in this warm, comfortable quiet.

*** 

When they head home after the rest of their twenty-four hours, they eat carry-out and watch _REVENGE 6_ , in which the hotshot air traffic controller—now also apparently a pilot, airplane engineer, and airport administrator as well as a certified badass—teams up with the crew of a container ship to find a hacker on the lam. Lio finds it hard to suspend disbelief. Literally where is she going to the bathroom if she’s spending weeks in a cargo container?? Galo waves this off as “details” and serves him more lasagna.

Afterwards they get a full night’s sleep, and for Lio at least it’s dreamless and deep and perfect.

*** 

Lio finishes his water, swishes it in his mouth, smooths his hand down the front of his black joggers. He’s comfortably dressed, all in black. It’s the early afternoon, the sunlight casting warm arcs on the yoga mat on the floor in front of him. They’ve rearranged the living area a bit so there’s more floor space, and Galo’s pull-up bar hangs off the doorframe on the way into the bedroom. Lio’s got his stuff set up on the coffee table that used to store his clothes, which is now wedged between the sofa and the windowsill. It’s cramped, but they’ll make do.

He sets his water glass down on the table to get it out of the way. Breathes.

“How you feelin'?” Galo asks, peering up at him from the floor where he’s just finished his warm-up. His eyes are more ruddy than blue in the sunlight.

“Nervous,” says Lio. “I just feel really … new.” Touching Galo’s hair and cheek grounds him in warmth and sensation, but doesn’t divest him of the tension in his jaw. That’s fully on him to unwind.

Galo turns his head to kiss into his palm. “You _are_ really new,” he says, without judgment. “But that’s okay. New is just one step on the path.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve done this a lot.” 

They’ve talked about Galo’s experience, about scenes he’s done before, what he liked best. Lio still gets flustered, pleasantly, hearing him talk so happily about walking around leashed and clamped at a party, or being flogged by a domme half his size until he cried, or being milked on all fours until he begged mercy, and so on. He talks with deep respect about the ex who introduced him to pain. It’s like—Galo often talks about it as though it’s a hobby. He might as well be discussing model trains or crossfit or motorbike repair. Lio’s just gotten his first kit and is still learning what all the pieces do.

“Sure I’ve done _some_ stuff,” Galo says, “but I haven’t done all this stuff _with you_ , and that means it’s got newness on it. And I definitely haven’t worked out specifically for sex reasons before.” A kiss to Lio’s wrist. “Let’s just try to have fun.”

“Yeah. Let’s do it,” Lio says. “How about you—how do you feel, right now?”

Galo grins, happy for Lio to scritch his shaven chin with his blunt fingernails. “Head-horny. Excited.”

“Excited about what?” About the promise of punishment should he mess up? About the improvements in his form he might legitimately extract from what they’re about to do?

“Mm, about trying something new that you might like. And about getting a new personal best.”

“Hmm, like—achievement.”

“Hell yeah!”

Lio smooths his hand back through Galo’s hair, getting a hum of contentment for his troubles. “You really do want to be the best.” He touches the side of his thumbpad to Galo’s throat, alongside the Adam’s apple.

Galo sighs. “Yeah, boss.”

Power rushes to his head. Lio knows he could just start, just go, just push Galo’s face to the floor and press the ball of his foot to his cheek; he’d go down so easy, would give submission to Lio like a gift.

But not yet. He takes his hand back. “How do you want to feel, Galo?”

“Uhh,” Galo says, blinking back to full awareness. “In the scene?”

“Yeah, baby, in the scene.”

“Uhh—under pressure, I guess. Like. Supported, but like there’s consequences. You can be strict.” His grin goes lopsided, lascivious, and his eye contact is steady and stable. “I mean, within reason. Shoulder injury, ankle injury, right.” Old wounds they’ve discussed before, lingering troubles from Galo’s years playing team sports. “But like—don’t let me get away with nothing.”

Lio’s heart turns over in him. “Of course not. I’m in a mood to push your endurance, so—that works.” He leans forward, kisses Galo damply, threads fingers into his hair. Galo’s handsy in return: touches up Lio’s thighs, his chest, groans needily when Lio bites his lip, sighs on his cheek when it’s over.

“Need anything else before we start?” Lio asks, letting Galo go.

“I’m good,” says Galo, and _grins_ , and wiggles in his kneel.

Lio wants to destroy him _so bad_ , fuck. Slow down, Fotia. “Okay, great.”

He folds his hands in his lap. Deep breaths. Deep breaths to quiet the nest of nerves in his belly. In. Out. 

In. Out. He sits well upright, straightens his spine, grounds himself. His body hums with awareness.

When he opens his eyes, Galo is kneeling in front of him, watching him, curious, eyes wide.

“Let’s begin,” Lio says, voice deep.

He witnesses Galo shudder and straighten his own posture, lifting his chin, relaxing his shoulders, arranging his legs under him for greater comfort. “Hi, boss,” he says, speaking softly.

Good. Another deep breath. And go.

“I’ve seen you working out,” he says, his words falling into a regal cadence as he speaks. “You’re an excellent physical specimen, but your form needs work. You can’t make a serious claim to strength unless you have good form. So I’ve decided I’m going to help you improve it.”

Galo swallows. “Okay.”

“Try calling me ‘sir’ today,” Lio says, eyes locked on Galo’s. “Let’s test it out, see if you like it.”

It is both wildly funny and highly touching when Galo says “YES SIR!” very wholeheartedly.

Like, to the point that Lio has to hold a hand up to his face to hide his spreading smile. “Making it kind of hard to stay in character, there, Thymos. I’m coaching you, this isn’t the military.”

Galo snickers, ducks his chin grinning. “Sorry, sorry.” Shakes it off, takes a breath, clears his throat. Takes a few deep breaths of his own. “I mean: yes, sir,” he says eventually, and it locks into place, feels right for what they’re trying to build.

“Right,” Lio breathes. He reaches out, gropes Galo’s pec and bicep. “You’re nice and warm, so you should be good to start. You’ll work circuit-style on four exercises, to failure. Failure refers to compromise in your form. You’ll do wall sits, planks, pull ups, and push ups, in that order. You’ll work for a half hour, resting fifteen seconds between exercises and one minute between circuits. Aim for two circuits, but keep going if we exceed that.” All fairly normal so far. Could be something they do at work.

Lio licks his lips, because now for the stuff they _wouldn’t_ do at work. Nervousness begone. “At the end of the half hour there’s a prize waiting for you. If you try to push through poor form, or if you move too slow between exercises, I’ll punish you when it happens, to help cement the correction.”

He reaches over to grab the crop from the side table, this almost silly-looking thing of Galo’s that surprised him with its sting when he tested it on himself. It’s well-made, solid in his hands, and he flexes it just a half-inch to see Galo react—and yep, that’s Galo’s mouth opening and shutting. “Feedback? Question?”

Galo wriggles again where he’s knelt, shakes his head. “No questions,” he says, grinning sideways, “but you look freakin’ hot with that crop, sir.”

“I know,” says Lio, and drags it over Galo’s cheek and neck and collarbones. Watches his breath hitch.

Now Lio grabs his phone, sets up a timer, shows it to Galo. “I’ll hang onto this. You just focus on the workout and on your form.”

“Yes, sir,” says Galo.

Lio gives him another look over. His hands are flexing and relaxing on his knees; he’s shifting around in his kneel; his breath is pitching up; his pupils are big; his mouth is parted _just_ so. There’s an outline in his gym shorts.

“Up,” says Lio, and gestures at the wall they’ve cleared beside the bathroom door. “Wall sit to failure. Go.” He taps the button on his phone timer. The countdown is on.

“You got it, sir,” Galo says, and complies. A great, bright flame kicks up in Lio at the sight.

*** 

Galo’s face changes beautifully through the wall sit. It’s like after Lio bit his thighs the first time. The bruises surfaced and changed over the succeeding days, and watching them transform was breathtaking. This is a lot like that. First Galo starts confident, proud of his own strength. Then it begins to be work. Galo’s face loses its smile and grows focused, serious, intent. After a minute, his nostrils begin to flare.

“Unclench your jaw,” Lio says, crouched at Galo’s side. “Relax into it.”

Galo tries to, but the work begins to be hard. Soon he’s frowning, tensing again. Soon his thighs are shaking with the effort. Soon he’s grimacing, his face crumpling, showing teeth.

Lio stands up, touches the crop to Galo’s upper back. He’s rounding forward to push his lower back into the wall. 

“Upright. Skull to the wall, eyes up.”

“ _Hah_ ,” Galo breathes, and corrects, with difficulty.

Lio checks his stopwatch. They’re three minutes into the wall sit. It’s wild, this man’s strength, the things he can do that Lio sure can’t. Lio’s strong, but a three-minute wall sit isn’t in his vocab. Galo’s thigh and calf muscles strain under the skin.

At four minutes and seven seconds, Galo releases his ass to the floor with a vocal grunt, not having incurred a punishment. But he’s already breathing heavy and shaking with effort.

Well, he’ll just have to suffer through, won’t he.

*** 

Taking Lio’s direction and relaxing into the rhythm, Galo makes it all the way to the first set of push-ups before getting in trouble. He moves at lightspeed in the first three reps like he’s trying to hurry through.

Lio stops him. “Are you serious? Thymos, your chest isn’t even hitting the floor.”

“This is just how I learned, sir,” Galo says, muffled by the yoga mat.

“Whoever it was, they did you a disservice by teaching you wrong. We’ll have to fix that.” Lio sits on the floor and puts his hand flat on the mat under Galo’s chest. “Do a rep. I want to feel your chest touch the back of my hand.”

“Hah, yessir,” Galo says, and readjusts his hands’ stance.

Lio watches him, watches the strain on his triceps as he descends. “That’s a lot harder, isn’t it? Do the rest of the set onto my hand. I’m guessing you’ve got another ten in you like this. How many did you say you could do cheating? 85, was it?”

“Ah. Mmyes sir.”

Galo works and works. On the back of his hand Lio can feel the coolness of Galo’s sweat. His body is taut like a cable. It was beautiful to see him working before, but now it’s like watching art in motion.

“Perfect,” he whispers. “Just like that.”

But three push-ups later Galo’s letting his belly hit the deck.

Lio withdraws his hand. “Stop. Enough. You can’t just replace one cheat with another.” Now he stands, and with an authoritative thrill, says: “Strip.”

A heavy breath. Galo goes to all fours, strips his red tee on his knees. He swings his legs out in front to shuck his blue shorts. Then off with his undies: boxer-briefs with a geometrical blue-and-red pattern on them.

Lio goes soft and wobbly inside. “Did you match your underwear to your workout clothes?”

“I did, sir,” Galo says, now naked and kneeling, like it’s his default position. They haven’t talked about that, but Lio’s read about it, about people setting defaults for their submissives, and he wonders who in the past trained him to operate like this, and how vulnerable Galo allowed himself to be with them. How pliant, how obedient, how adorably matchy-matchy with his clothes.

“You’re going to do the rest naked,” says Lio, “but right now—”

He takes the crop, slides it along Galo’s throat, along his collarbones.

“Arch your back,” Lio says, trying to keep his voice measured. (Galo arches his back.) “Chin up, eyes forward,” Lio says, trying to keep his heart from pounding out through his throat. (Galo raises his chin, directs his gaze.) “Offer your chest,” Lio says, trying to keep his full attention on Galo and not on the hardness in his joggers. (Galo pushes his pecs up towards the ceiling.)

(He’s smiling.)

“What are you so happy about, Galo?” Lio asks, patting Galo’s pecs with the crop. “What are you smiling for?”

“I love you like this, sir,” Galo says, baring his throat, an invitation.

Lio takes Galo by the chin, walks so he’s standing behind him, rubs the crop on his chest— “How’s that? When I’m about to ruin your pecs? When I’m about to make you unable to go shirtless for a week?”

Galo opens his mouth to say something, probably something cheeky as fuck, but then apparently moderates himself; he just grins, chin trapped in Lio’s hand, and shuts his eyes. “I _like_ when you’re mean to me, sir,” is what he says instead, very sweetly.

Lio laughs through his nose and raises his arm slightly. “Gauge this,” he orders, and cracks crop on skin, and light rushes through him at the recoil, at the broken noise Galo makes.

*** 

The punishment _does things_ to Lio in the brain. Good things. Good, melty, power-hungry things.

Still. The way Galo shakes and grunts and sweats, naked, in his subsequent plank, with a seated Lio’s feet crossed on his back, is both unbelievably erotic and plants a seed of worry in Lio for later.

*** 

They don't make it through two circuits. Lio’s phone buzzes quietly in his pocket while Galo’s lowering himself from a pull up, but Lio waits till he’s gone to failure and standing before he calls it.

“Cooldown time.”

“I can go longer,” Galo says, a little desperately, catching his breath. “I can do more. Sir.” His face is flush and his eyes—his eyes are dreamy, his gaze soft.

“I know you can, baby.” Using a hand at the back of Galo’s neck, Lio directs him to the yoga mat, presses him to the ground. He goes down so, so easy. “I know you can. You're so strong and so good. But you shouldn’t. Can you stretch out for me?”

“I want to keep going, sir,” Galo mumbles.

Is this insubordination? If so, it’s hard to know what to do with it. It’s the sweetest, most desirous insubordination Lio’s had to deal with, that’s for sure. He can’t very well punish desire.

He fumbles with a response for a second. “That-that may be the case, but _I_ don’t want you to keep going. _I_ don’t know your limits well enough yet, and I don't want to injure you or overfatigue you because you need your body to help rescue people. You have a responsibility to yourself to keep your body operational.” He touches Galo’s chin, strokes his cheek, hooks him into eye contact. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” says Galo, his voice hoarse on the words. He hesitates on a follow-up.

“Talk to me, Galo,” Lio whispers, and ghosts fingers over the tender new marks on his chest.

Galo’s dreamy eyes slide shut even as he flinches under the touch. “Can you take me through the cooldown? I can’t—” —he licks his lips— “—I can’t fit the bits together in my head. Sir.”

“Oh, baby,” Lio says, nearly overcome. “Sure I can. Sure.”

*** 

After directing Galo through a few minutes of naked stretching, Lio lies him down flat and rides him bruisingly hard into the floor. It’s a fucking dream come true, even more so because Galo begs him for orgasm, and Lio has enough left in him to deny him a couple of times. Galo begging is swiftly becoming one of his favourite songs.

During aftercare, though, the seed of doubt he planted in his own mind comes for him. He’s getting Galo’s juice and snack and protein bar when it blossoms, when something cracks inside him like a glowstick, when a droplet of water drips from his face onto the countertop with a _plap_.

He brings Galo his snack, tucks him into shorts, checks the marks on his chest, wraps him in a blanket. He’s about to go do something else, not sure what, maybe something just to occupy his mind, when Galo tugs him into the blanket-cocoon. Not by force. By gentleness. Lio goes easy into it.

“You’re crying,” Galo says, and wipes at Lio’s cheeks with a thumbpad. “Hey, hey, I’m here.”

“I—” Lio scrubs at his cheeks. “I don’t know why.” He takes a shaking breath. “This was hot, it was so hot, I just.”

Galo kisses his cheekbone. “It was _so_ hot. You corrected me just right, improved my form, coached me all the way through, you were firm. You’re like. I keep saying it, but. You’re gonna get even better at it.”

That eases some of the strangling grip of the guilt in Lio, and he sits with that for a long minute, speechless, crying into Galo’s collarbone, trying to sort out the thousand pieces of himself that came loose when the scene ended.

“I—” A sniffle escapes him. “I don’t know if I can be a bootcamp type guy. I can’t do the military thing.”

“Totally,” Galo says. Then he offers him the juicebox. Mango and pomegranate. “You could think about it as a coach if you wanted. Or like you said before, like a personal trainer. With benefits.”

The juicebox is pure sugar, and it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Lio gulps gratefully. “I mean the sir thing, in this context. The bootcamp thing plus that. I get why it’s hot, intellectually. I just don’t know if I can.”

“Two great tastes that don’t taste great together?” Galo attempts, knocking a sad little laugh out of Lio. “No worries, babe. This is just for us. We can take our time figuring it out. If that's something you even wanna do.”

Lio reaches over to the coffee table, cracks a second juicebox, and tucks himself into Galo for the long haul. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for waiting I had to rewrite like half of this x) !!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally going to be one chapter but then I wrote this part and realized that structurally it felt best on its own, with the last really big scene (👀) being separate. anyway uh this one is mostly conversation... hoping to post the actual Big Bonedown later tonight
> 
> CNs for talk of possessiveness, marriage, and ownership, also Galo talks dirty in the last section in a fairly intense way, but if you're still here you're probably also here for that

The drop is short. The next day is quiet, with Galo on a twenty-four-hour shift and Lio off, and Lio lazes a bit, reading and doing groceries, while trying unsuccessfully to disentangle the unforgiving thing inside him. He drafts scene ideas in his notebook for a creative outlet, and it helps, but whenever he finishes one, something heavy lands on him.

That night, at their first post-budget-approval organizing meeting, they take a break to eat. The room, borrowed from a Promepolis food justice group for the night, billows with people, most of them Burnish, many of them faces Lio knows from the _Parnassus_ incident, several of them new, having been galvanized by the budget vote. They smile at him and shake hands, or shyly duck their eyes, and then join the rest of the milling group. It’s a good noise to have around him: people chatting with one another in shared anger and in community. A place like this is a second home.

Beside him, Meis is going ham on a samosa; Gueira’s across from him hoovering up broccoli salad out of a tupperware he brought with him. There’s a quiet moment when they start to eat where Lio’s able to take a mental break for a minute from discussing their tactics for the next year. Galo comes in to fill the space.

Lio sticks his fork in his chili—there’s always chili—and asks Meis, “What kind of person do you think I am?”

Meis drops the samosa to his paper plate, sucks on a thumb, a forefinger. “I always think of you rolling in on us in the desert, kicking absolute ass, convincing us not to become murderers. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I still think violence is a useful tactic—but you were right that we were letting little immediate battles get in our way of seeing the big picture strat.” He picks up the samosa again, ducks his face to take a ravenous bite, nudges Lio’s knee with his own under the table. “It’s like. What’s the word for ‘angry compassionate’.”

The chili tastes good. Kind of lukewarm from sitting out on a folding table while people talked about phone banking, but it’s bright red from the spices. Lio stirs it between bites.

“It’s like this, boss,” Gueira says, broccoli sticking to his teeth. “You’re always super willing to take other people’s struggles on. And yeah on the one hand we need that. But like, you also have to enjoy life. Approach this shit being completely honest with yourself about what you actually need and want. Therapist says, like, know what your values are, let _that_ guide your choices, rather than changing to satisfy other people. Otherwise you’re heading right for burnout, understand?”

Meis nods through this, and looks down his nose at Lio with a squint. “Everything okay with you and Mister Hotshot?”

Lio laughs through his nose. “Better than okay, yeah. I’m just—trying to figure out whether I’m allowed to have something. If it’s okay given the kind of person I want to be, politically.”

Meis and Gueira exchange silent glances around him. After a long pause, Meis says, “Yo, if you’re thinking about marriage—”

Lio starts waving his hands to stop them getting overexcited, but Gueira’s already standing halfway up out of his chair. “Boss! This is amazing!! We knew you two would—have you proposed yet—do you have rings yet—I know a guy—”

“Holy shit, would you both _calm the fuck down,_ that’s not what I—”

But the moderator’s waving her hands at the head of the room. “Hey, everybody, can we get started back up here?” Right away the movement patterns of the people around them start changing, people cleaning up their meals and sitting back down and hurrying to refill water bottles from the bathroom.

Meis takes Lio around the shoulder for a swift, one-armed squeeze. “Come back to ours after. We’ll play games, chill. You looked fucking stressed out when you came in. No wonder.”

Lio spends the rest of the meeting with his face at least partly in his hands, trying to stave off the heat in his face—Meis and Gueira are easily the most aggressively married of any of his friends. And even if they’ve misidentified the heavy thing on him, he accepts their invitation, happy to listen to them talk about why marriage, problematic though it is as an institution, can still be a win for people if properly and thoroughly negotiated. Gueira goes on at length about the freedom he and Meis have gotten from treating it like a constant work in progress, and one that’s time-limited and always being renewed, rather than permanently held.

“We have like, monthly meetings about it, sorta,” he says, wincing over his game tiles as he realizes how unsexy it sounds. “I mean like. They’re dates! But dates with an agenda, you feel me?”

“It’s like this: because we treat it like it’s time-limited there’s less pressure to reach some end state. Sometimes we try out new systems and they work for a little while then stop working. A relationship isn’t a solid object, right, it’s like this churning fluid with streams coming in and out always refilling it—”

“Getting deep into the metaphors there, husband.”

“I love you, let me finish: I’m just saying, it’s reasonable to be politically nervous about your relationship and think there’s some ideal way of going about it, but that’s a trap. Different things are good for different people, period. Knowing that and living true to it is hard but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s one of the roots of real actual consent.”

In the end, Lio doesn’t _not_ take mental notes about the marriage part, even though it’s not—where he had intended to go with this, like, at all, but it’s. Good to know. The general message sinks in.

But more than the conversation, it’s the time they spend together, laughing and coming up with stakes-free strategies during gameplay, that’s curative. Meis is in love with this game about building cross-country railways. The whole time Lio thinks about _Terminal Revenge_ ’s train-based sequels. Gueira gets them to play this game where they work together to stack cards in ascending number order, but without speaking or signalling. It’s incredibly fun, and kind of awesome.

It’s not like Lio walks out feeling disentangled, not really, but he walks into the warm evening air reminded that his life with Galo is based on desire, on choice, not need. Something about that—clicks.

***

The next day, Lio’s at work, passing by the glass doors of the Burning Rescue gym on the way to the dorms, when he spots Galo doing push-ups. He watches a few moments—and exhales when Galo’s chest touches the floor. In fact he touches it to the floor every time, even though it looks like he’s struggling. The focus and determination on his face, his winces when his pecs land, draw Lio’s gaze like a magnet.

Lio gives himself permission to think: yes, that’s right. Good boy.

It feels good inside him, so he lets the dark thought unfold. This must mean Galo is thinking about him. Thinking about the crop Lio used. Feeling the stinging marks on his chest.

The room gets brighter. He diverts his path, skips the dorms, goes straight to a cold shower.

***

When he asks Galo about it that night, while they’re making out, Galo goes _red_. “I was, yeah. Thinking about you. This shit hurts, ‘specially doing push-ups, it’s hard _not_ to,” he says, pointing at the long marks on his bare chest, where Lio’s gelled them up with arnica.

Lio touches the edge of one of the colour-changing marks, presses his finger to the skin there every so gently, listens to Galo hiss, presses again in a different place. Testing, just gently testing, reading Galo’s reactions everywhere he touches. Listening to his breath catch, watching him twist into a grimace. After about five of these gentle pokes Galo raises a hand as though to take Lio’s wrist, but he doesn’t. Just bends his head and watches the careful progress of Lio’s hand.

“Babe,” he breathes, when Lio takes his hand back. “You really do like bruises, huh.”

“After I became Burnish, I didn’t bruise at all,” Lio says. “They’d heal quick. I’d get them, I’d see them, and then poof, they’d be gone. None of this slow day-by-day progress. Nothing lingering in the morning, no marks to look at through the week, no—reminders. It became really easy to forget. Some people got uncareful. So getting to see them on you is—” —he dusts his fingers all the way across Galo’s mark, feather-light— “—it’s really cool. That your body has such a memory.”

“Yours has one too, now.” Galo leans in for a chapsticky kiss, sits back against the pillows, looks at Lio for a while as Lio continues the movement of his hand, tugs gently at the blue hairs connecting Galo’s navel to his underwear.

After a time Galo asks, in a neutral tone unusual for him: “The bruise thing. Is it a possessiveness thing?”

“Not really. It’s, I don’t know, it’s like looking at artwork that I made.”

Galo’s shoulders relax into the pillows, and his hand slips over the blankets, sifting like sand, as he reaches for Lio’s waist. He’s so transparently thoughtful that Lio almost feels bad calling him on it. 

“Galo,” Lio says, “talk to me.”

Inhale. Exhale. “I think you’re better at that than I am. You’ve done poly so maybe you’re just better at that than I am, at not being possessive. Like I know I definitely shouldn’t be, and that’s always something I can work on; and I know I shouldn’t want _you_ to be.” He hesitates on more.

“Poly doesn't cure people of bad relationship behaviours... what else are you thinking about?"

“Like. I know I shouldn't want you to be possessive. But. I kind of want you to be.” Galo sighs, tucks a finger under Lio’s waistband just to hang on.

“Hmm.”

In the quiet Lio tips himself down to kiss Galo’s mouth, to tongue him slowly. Under him Galo relaxes. Lio’s hands stay very, very civil, all things considered. Galo’s not so much. They find Lio’s ribs and thumb his nipples in slow, rhythmic circles.

After another sweet, liquid-hot minute of this Lio picks the thread back up: “Have you ever given any thought to, like—why you like being treated mean?”

Galo blinks up at him, presses his lips together, stops the circles of his thumbs. “I guess—well, there’s the rush. There’s subspace. There’s surviving it, knowing I always _can_ survive it. It always ends, so I can push myself.” He moves his hands, runs them up Lio’s back and down again. “And there’s the whole like. When a top’s being ultra mean to you, you know they’re paying complete attention to you. It’s. I don’t know if that’s _why_ I like it, but it’s on the opposite end from neglect, you know?”

There’s history here. Galo grew up knowing a loving home, then bounced among foster homes, and Kray’s attentions were distant at the best of times.

Lio puts a hand in Galo’s hair, tugs it at the roots in little repeated pulses. “The meanness, in that context—it’s parallel to caring, I guess. If we’re talking about like, a coach persona, it’s—investment in you.”

“Yeah,” Galo says, tipping his head hazily back into Lio’s hand. “Yeah, boss. I guess it is.”

“That might help explain some of why you like possessiveness on me.” He’s just thinking out loud with this, but— “Kind of a psychological kink. Possessiveness is a form of attention to someone, as unhealthy as it is, as much as it ignores their individuality.” He lowers his head, bites at Galo’s ear, revels in Galo’s body rippling up under him. Then back to talking. “Like, it’d definitely be a problem if it turned into a pattern in our relationship, but—if you wanted, we could think about playing with it, with ‘sir’ and ‘master’, things like that.”

Galo swallows, his eyes going dark, midnight blue with a core of fire. “Fuck, we’re getting dangerously close to discussing collaring, and like, I don’t _think_ that’s what you’re talking about, but I don’t think we’re ready for it yet either way.” He moves his hands back to Lio’s nipples, the slow circles melt-worthy.

It slips out of Lio’s mouth. “More likely to marry you first, if we’re talking commitments.”

Galo’s dark eyes go light. He opens and closes his mouth for a few seconds while he tries to find words, then breaks into a grin, bright and broad, a blue-white star. “I’m. Happy to know that’s. You know. On the table. For later.”

In a few minutes, Lio decides, he will reward this conversation by giving Galo really good dick, but for now he puts his face into Galo’s pecs and laughs through his hammering heart.

***

(“Talk to me, Galo,” Lio says, with his hands fitted in at the back of Galo’s knees. “Tell me what you really want. What’s really on your mind.”)

(“I think you should own me,” Galo says, mind unhinged by the rhythm of their fucking. “I think you should be my coach all the time. I think you should force me to come at the end of every workout—and you should get to wear leather and—ah—beat me up with your fucking _sexy as fuck_ crop every time I fuck up—you should put a vibe or something in me while I work out, god, or put clamps on me, Lio, I wish you would, I wish you’d pick out all my workouts for me.” His legs spread another inch, so easily, under Lio’s touch. Lio wonders if he could fit a finger in alongside his cock, if Galo’d be into that. Instead he bites a nipple hard and grazes his teeth over the marks on Galo’s chest, winning a broken sob, a yell: “AH, augh— _ow,_ Lio—you should make me wear bruises every day—tell me which parts of me you want to get stronger—tell me which parts of me you want me to work on—I’ll do anything—I’ll work so hard for you—please—ah—let me obey you— _train me, sir,_ break me, make me perfect for you, ah, please, sir, hurt me like you hate me, please, please—”)

(The fuck itself is vanilla compared to what Galo’s talking about, and Lio knows it's just dirty talk, that Galo takes joy in unleashing every fantasy that crosses his mind. But god, the ideas. If Galo’s chatter is water, Lio’s mind is a waterwheel connected to a generator. It's brilliant. Like this, it’s safe to just be together—to enjoy one another—to live in a moment of beautiful, fucked-up honesty that is just for them.)

(When Galo sobs desperately for release, deep care rushes through Lio. It’s better if Galo doesn’t come yet. He’ll have to sob a little harder for Lio first.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep having to update the tags as I write this, if I've missed any pls lmk thank u!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well according to gdocs this is 14 pages of Galo Thymos getting systematically destroyed so have at it, I will not be issuing an apology at this time

Galo works more days a week than Lio does at Burning Rescue, so Lio gets today “off”. It’s because he needs a day a week to do interviews and things. Today he spends the morning on a news show absolutely destroying an argument about discriminatory housing and insurance policies, to the point of making the sniveling worms on the opposite side just straight up lose the thread of their argument. It’s satisfying, but it represents baby steps. The real work is back at the community council in that room with the communal chili. He’ll be there later in the week.

Having tackled his main to-do list item by noon, his mind has space to wander in. It’s helped by the arrival of a package he ordered a week previous, the contents of which he unwraps and checks with care. Then it goes to the notebook where it’s stowed in his underwear drawer, to a dark place that’s steadily becoming warmer and more comfortable to linger in.

A text, hastily sent, with heart in throat:

Lio Fotia  
Hey—you around?  
17:33

A beat. A worming thing in his upper chest. Then, a blessed ellipsis signalling conversation.

Galo Thymos  
hiya boss  
yah Im around!! finishedup a call a few min ago. false alarm up an apt bldg  
whats up??  
17:34

Lio Fotia  
Glad it was a false alarm ❤️ and that you’re all safe.  
Just wondering what your boundaries are on candles in the apartment?  
17:34

Galo Thymos  
I mean if u want like a romantic mood light or w/ev I can get u a nice lil lamp?  
they make some cute lantterns that use led tealights!!  
Ill send u a link to I saw one on pintrest  
17:35

Lio Fotia  
It’s for sex reasons.  
17:35

Galo Thymos  
OH  
BOSS??  
17:35

Lio Fotia  
Yeah? ❤️  
17:35

A minute. Two minutes. Oh. Oh no. Breathe. It’s fine. It’s on the list, for goodness’ sake. Galo probably just dropped his phone into an awkward spot in his mech or something. Wouldn’t be the first time Lucia’s had to to a major dismantling to retrieve someone’s phone.

He occupies himself by making ice. Pour water into tray. Find spot in overstuffed freezer for it. Repeat. This only takes about two minutes; he’s left still waiting, wiping his hands on his pants, looking for something else to do. Wipe down the countertop, maybe??

His phone pings, saving him. He snatches it up hurriedly, then breathes— _stay calm, you fool._

Galo Thymos  
SORRY i had 2 yeet myself out of the dayroom bc inapropriately horny  
@ the door Varys started giving me the update on his kids  
temporarily killed the bone but now its BACK babyyyy  
17:45

anyway im in the dorms now hiding, have 2 do an equpment check in 10 mins but  
can u melt it on the stove instead of using fire?  
17:46

Lio Fotia  
Sure I could. But candles are better for pain.  
17:47

Galo Thymos  
hhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn  
fuck, boss  
aaa heres a great example ofa thing i shouldnt want ahahaha  
17:47

Lio Fotia  
Yeah, I kinda figured that it’d have a danger factor for you.  
Galo.  
17:47

Galo Thymos  
yah boss?  
17:48

Lio Fotia  
Try not to get too horny at work, okay?  
17:48

Galo Thymos  
hHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH  
idk if i can help itt  
17:48

Lio takes a deep breath. Steels himself. He spends a long minute writing and rewriting his response, editing it, making it more concise. If he shows up as an ellipsis a little too long on Galo’s screen, well, isn’t that just part of the anticipation?

He hopes so. Lio hits Send.

Lio Fotia  
Put an ice pack on it if you have to. If you go with a shower make it cold, don’t touch yourself.  
You’re at work, after all.  
17:50

Galo Thymos  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
yes sir???????????  
oh fuck  
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa  
lio???????????????????????????????  
u cant see how hard im smiling ur fuckin me upp  
this is wat u do 2 me!! dirty texting on the job!!! candles at home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
theyre gonna revoak my firefighter of the month award  
17:50

Galo Thymos  
im gonna text u a link to a candle safety video i shot 4 BR last yr & also ill bring home an extra mini xtinguisher  
im dying  
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa  
17:51

Lio Fotia  
❤️  
17:51

***

Lio’s at the store, grabbing antibiotic ointment and choosing between brands of aloe vera gel, when he gets a ping.

Oh, no. Oh _fuck yes_.

It’s a photo of Galo’s crotch, sitting on a toilet seat, legs spread to show the pouch of his underwear. He’s wearing boxer briefs with little violet-and-pink flame patterns. There’s a tiny wet patch in the pouch, darkening the heart of one of the flames. Blue hair is dusted over the adjacent thighs.

In the foreground, Galo’s hand presses a Burning Rescue ice pack tight to his crotch. His knuckles are really having to work to hold it there, as though it’s difficult to keep it in place. He’s not being ginger about it, whatever the case may be.

Galo Thymos  
i dont know if this is actually helpin cancel out the horny,, boss  
i mean the cock is very shrinky, but brain is now max horny  
hurts like hell  
18:31

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_. Lio’s gonna have to do the rest of his shopping with the basket held right in front of his fucking cock.

Lio Fotia  
Holy shit, Thymos.  
18:32

Lio Fotia  
I want to hear everything about how it feels but I’m shopping. Later?  
You’d better stop, though. Don’t injure yourself, that’s a lot of really sensitive skin under there.  
18:32

And—well, fuck it—

Lio Fotia  
You’re so good for me. How’d you get so good, Galo?  
18:32

Galo Thymos  
you're teaching me how to be ❤️  
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️  
18:33

Hello, Burning Rescue? Yes. Yes, this is Lio Fotia, yes, I do work there a couple days a week, yes I have a medical emergency, it’s my brain and also my heart, there is a beautiful submissive man saying extremely sweet extremely dirty things to me and I need immediate assistance, hello? Burning Rescue? Hello??

Lio reboots his brain enough to text back, but it takes a monumental effort.

Lio Fotia  
Would it be okay with you if I save this photo for later?  
18:33

Galo Thymos  
if later means what i thnk it means.. .. thats why i sent it bro enjoy ❤️  
ow fuck ok I gotta get my head on right and get back to the group  
18:33

Fortunately Lio does finish his shopping, but he has to use the self-checkout lane. Then he _runs_. Nobody in Promepolis, three quarters of which knows his face, needs to see him like _this_.

***

Lio comes home laden with supplies, whacks one out real quick with Galo’s photo in front of him, and spends an hour eating, tidying, plotting, clearing his head. He mentally dedicates the coffee table to candles and drags it into place alongside their three square metres of open space in front of the television. The rug’s going to have to go, but the dropcloth he ordered that arrived today should cover enough of the space. The polyesters he exiles from the room.

Nobody ever told him that doms had to think so much about interior design, but here he is.

After he’s done making a few decisions about the floor layout, locating their existing extinguisher, and writing up a sheet with emergency numbers on it—for Galo’s comfort, mainly—he lights a pillar candle to allow the wax to pool around the wick. He showers, shaves some of the fine hairs from his outer mid-thigh. Plays some music while he’s at it, why not. Bath, candles, music? How atmospheric; how romantic.

He pours off some of the excess wax; then it’s time for testing. The first drips of wax _hurt_ , but it’s mainly, he thinks, the surprise that gets him. He takes the candle to different distances from his skin. Right up close, close enough to feel the flame, he fears for a second that it’ll singe him. It’s painful enough for him to make him hiss and reach for the wet cloth he’s got nearby, but then he re-reads the instructions about relative distance and recalibrates. It’s a really weird sensation, one that builds and develops intensely but in a tiny area, but after a bit of trial and error, he thinks he gets it.

He zooms out his attention to encompass his thigh, and—ah, yeah. Yeah, he definitely gets it. There’s a creative, painterly thread to it. His heart runs his mind back to building thrones and armour and dragons out of pillars of living flame. This is—a fraction of that; a molecule’s worth; but he thinks about Galo, and Galo’s reactions, and that’s enough to satisfy him, as a stopgap. Galo tends to have that effect on him.

***

Galo rockets into Lio’s arms the moment he gets home, presses him into the kitchen counter to kiss him like Lio’s lungs have the air in them that Galo needs to breathe. After a few minutes Lio makes Galo shower—he’s still got his hair spiked and Lio wants to pull it while he fucks his throat hoarse. The second Galo climbs dripping wet out of the shower, Lio pushes him to his knees on the bathroom tile and absolutely _uses_ him.

They spend the rest of the night in a blanket nest in their temporarily rearranged living room, eating homemade maki and watching _The Termination of Revenge_ , next in the franchise. Their hacker on the lam is now at large and creating havoc in the international supply chain. There’s a surprising amount of lore surrounding logistics packed into the recent films, far beyond the original promise of the series, which was really just about air traffic. Or—Galo still argues it’s about found family. Lio has so much trouble keeping track of all the characters that it’s hard for him to agree, but he doesn’t dispute the claim. Galo still cries at least once every film, after all. Seems it means a lot to him.

“You got plans for me tomorrow, boss?” Galo asks, wiggling against him in the nest.

Lio massages the back of his neck, consistently amazed at the man’s muscles, even relaxed. “Yeah, baby, if you’re still into it. If the candles are stressful in a not fun way, we can postpone till I get a wax melter.”

Galo makes a humming noise, and then shakes his head. “I want it,” he rumbles. “I wanna feel scared.”

“Scared, huh.” Lio digs his fingers in deeper to get into the muscle. “If there was a knife involved, without intent to draw blood, would that be cool with you? That’s a good fear toy.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool with me.” Galo sighs into the massage. “I wanna cry. I wanna hurt. Don’t hold back, do your worst. Be the dragon.”

Lio bends forward, curls himself around his lover. “Is that me? Am I the dragon?”

“It’s part of you, always will be.” Galo strokes the back of Lio’s neck, warm grounding contact. “Yeah, you’re the dragon. You’re the Mad Burnish Boss. You’re a Prometh Lake Community Councillor. You’re Lio. And you’re my boss. You’re all of these things and I love all of ‘em.”

The touch feels like a rescue. “You’re afraid of the dragon?”

“In awe of it, more like. Still ranks in the wildest stuff I’ve ever seen in my life. But like, in the midst of everything, the destruction, the vengefulness, the thing I remember most… Lio, you might not remember this, but the dragon cried.”

***

They sleep in, just a bit. Galo makes breakfast, brunch really. Afterwards, while Galo does him a solid and washes the dishes, Lio makes a last few secretive adjustments to the items in the cardboard box his supplies came in, sets himself up carefully. Showers, puts on deodorant, flosses his teeth. Puts on an old black cotton tee of Galo’s, knotted cutely to one side at the waist, and his leather pants.

Inhale. Exhale. He looks himself in the mirror. Adjusts himself, settles himself in his body.

Galo’s putting away the last dish when Lio comes to him, traces fingers along his lower back, and hooks his eye contact into Galo’s. Wordlessly, walking backwards, he uses his movement to indicate that Galo should follow him to the bathroom. Quickly Galo wipes his hands on a rag and, eyes never leaving Lio’s for a moment, obeys.

“Quick shower for you,” Lio says, as he runs the water and checks it. Not too hot—good. Galo’s standing just inside the bathroom door with excitement on his face, scraping his hand through his loose hair. Might as well give him something to do: “Strip.”

Clothes to the floor. He’s so uncommonly beautiful, so big, even in this cramped little bathroom, too small to hold any kind of storage beyond what’s built in, to the point that Lio has to sit on the toilet seat.

Galo sticks his hand in the shower. “It’s too cold, boss.”

“It’s just right, actually,” says Lio mildly, and hands Galo his shower gel.

Five minutes later, the flow stops, the curtain retracts, and there’s a soaked firefighter scraping blue hair back out of his face. Dripping down his fucking nose, down his chin, droplets clinging to his nipples and hanging off his cock. This is the stuff charity calendars are made of.

Lio stands up to stop him exiting the bath, looks him up and down, puts a hand on Galo’s chest, feels him up a bit. “You’ve got a bit of growth,” he says, thumbing at the stubble on Galo’s chest and then trailing his fingers down to catch on the trail below his navel. He wins a beautiful catch in Galo’s breath, and another when he finds the stubble at Galo’s crotch. The man’s already breathing a little shakily. That’s a fucking win, too.

He looks up, diverting Galo’s gaze from where it’s been following his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” A half-turn and he picks up the razor and a can of gel from the edge of the sink. “Sit on the edge here. Hold still, hands on your knees.”

It’s a fun reversal, kneeling in front of this massive firefighter while he sits on the side of the tub, working every neuron to keep from moving. But Lio’s the one skating the razor over skin, up against the grain of the hair and then down following it. Lio is the one commanding Galo’s attention. He is the pin holding the butterfly.

He gets the chest, the belly, the upper pubic area, the upper thighs. The thighs especially are a production, since Galo doesn’t generally shave them, but that makes it better, the idea that he is being specially prepared for their midday activities.

Lio spends this time touching gently at his body as direction and murmuring to him:

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Galo Thymos,” he says, voice low, intimate, as he pulls the blades over Galo’s naked form. “At first I thought the worst of you. That you were unintelligent, crass, inattentive—but I think it was in the cave that things started to shift with us. It had been so long since I’d been close to anyone, and we were forced together, you and I, but I don’t know if circumstances could have forced two better people together. Don’t you agree?”

“Totally.” Galo’s breath hiccups.

Lio switches thighs, keeps his eyes on his work. “Do you feel like calling me sir today, sweetheart? Up to you.”

“Yes, sir,” Galo breathes, and lets his legs open more to give Lio the access he needs.

Lio shakes off the razor in the basin of water on the floor beside him and smiles up at Galo. Light suffuses him, or the feeling of it anyway. “My good boy,” he murmurs, and tilts up to kiss him, before getting back to work.

***

Afterwards Lio makes Galo hold his hands up above his head—a fucking revelation in itself, the way it makes his pecs stretch out and his abs pop—so he can massage an unscented body oil into him. Galo makes a happy little noise, but doesn’t crack any gladiator or cagematch jokes. The dreamy vibe he gets from pain is on him now, even though they’re only in prep. It’s wild. It’s fucking awesome.

He takes Galo by the hand and guides him into the living area, where he has him stand at one side while Lio puts down a gray dropcloth and blue towels. The coffee table’s nearby, with Lio’s kit on it; midday sunlight makes mottled patterns on the floor.

Deep breath. Let it happen. “You’ll look so pretty on these colours, Galo, and in the sunlight,” Lio says. “Now kneel for me.”

“Yes, sir,” says Galo softly, and gets to the ground, and Lio goes to set up the candles.

They’re on a tray, to keep them off the table. He lights the tealights first, then the pillars.

He goes back to Galo, sits on the sofa in front of him, but Galo’s eyes flicker too often to the fire on the table.

“Are you worried about the flames, Galo?”

“Can’t help it, sir.” He shifts a little in his naked kneel, face serious, eyes even know straying to the coffee table.

Lio touches Galo’s chin, a reminder. “Do you doubt that I’ve taken every precaution to keep us safe, Galo?”

“No,” says Galo, eyes widening. “No, sir. I don’t.”

With a flat palm Lio smacks Galo’s left pec, lightly, to grab it—a warning, not a true punishment. “We went through fire safety and extinguisher locations this morning. You’ve placed yourself in my hands today, Galo. As part of that, understand that I’ll do everything in my power to protect my property. Is that clear?”

Galo swallows. “Yes, sir.”

Gently Lio places his fingers at Galo’s chin. “Do you want to back out of today’s arrangement, Galo?”

“No, sir.”

“I feel like the candles threw off the relaxation we did before—you’re all tense—” —here Lio touches at the tense areas he spots: Galo’s shoulders, temples, thighs— “—so we’ll begin by doing a breathing exercise. I want you relaxed, mind and body, so that you’re ready for what’s to come.”

The phone’s still in his pocket where he left it. Pulls up an app, sets it to his satisfaction. The metronome clicks quietly and slowly. “In for five through your nose, out for seven through your mouth. Can you do that for me, Galo?”

“I can, sir,” Galo says, very quietly.

A thread, a tiny thread of confusion furrows on his forehead. Lio lets him process what’s happening for a moment, lets him be unmoored. Touches his chin again once a couple seconds have passed, re-establishes eye contact, strokes his cheek. “Breathe for me, Galo. Nice and slow. Think about how I’m going to hurt you. Think about how I’m in control.”

Galo takes in a preparatory breath like he’s about to bullrush a door—and exhales for seven through his mouth. If Lio follows the exercise too, just to help manage his own heartbeat through this upheaval of an experience, well, that’s a perk, too.

***

At the end of five minutes Galo’s hackles have backed down to the point of him being all sweetly pliant; Lio’s able to lay him down flat. He strokes Galo’s chest, his ribs, his belly, his thighs, feels him rise up into each little touch, absolutely revels in the way his eyes have dimmed a bit, have gone even dreamier, the way he’s gone sleepy and quiet and sensitive, his eyes always following Lio.

It’s submissiveness, is what it is, the way this powerful adult man holds himself (”Hold your wrist in your other hand above your head—like this—well done—”) so that his chest and belly are beautifully on display; the way he’s focused totally on Lio, on the motions of his hands, even though Lio’s wearing a shitty band tee and is barefoot on the floor.

Lio’s brain absolutely reverberates with power.

“Since this is our first time doing this together,” he tells Galo, “I’m not going to restrain you. On the flip side of that, though, you have to hold yourself still. You’re strong—you’re capable of it. You understand?”

Galo’s only sort of meeting his eyes through the cloud in them, his face all prettily relaxed. “Yes, sir.”

Lio turns to the coffee table, takes up one of the pillars. The flame is tiny, burning on a trimmed wick in a tidy pool of liquid wax. He turns the candle in his hand. Such a tiny fire. He remembers _being_ fire, once upon a time. And here they are, an extinguisher on standby for a flame the size of his fingertip.

Beyond the flame, Galo’s eyes are wide.

Lio lifts the candle, turns it, sends a drip onto his own warm, inhales sharp when it hits him. Tests the wax at different heights. “That’s about right,” he whispers to himself, and holds the candle above Galo’s body, stretched out in anticipation—and, he thinks, in fear.

Good.

“Quick test and then we’ll get started,” he says, and Galo swallows, and Lio knows it’s the right time.

He lets the first wax fall from a good height. Should only be middling hot. _Plap_ on Galo’s ribs. A sharp gasp.

“Number, Galo?”

“Uhh—” Galo struggles through the sensation for a moment, trying to decide on it— “Four, sir.”

“Very good, thank you.” He lets a little more wax pool under the flame—sits with it, lets Galo watch him, lets Galo wait. Now: “Let’s begin.”

“Yes, sir,” Galo breathes, and Lio begins.

***

After the first few testing drips of hot wax Lio gets up, makes Galo wait, comes back, loves the reaction he sees on Galo’s face when he sits down with his new equipment. _Crack-crack_ as he twists it in his hands.

He plucks one of the ice cubes from the tray. “Open up,” he says, pressing it to Galo’s lips.

Galo holds his gaze while he takes the cube into his tongue, closes his mouth around it with a shiver.

“I know you like when I’m mean, baby,” he says, stroking Galo’s thigh to help him through the sensory confusion. “But you gave yourself for me for today, and as your master, I’ve decided to be sweet to you while I hurt you. Enjoy it. I figure there’s got to be more than one way to make you cry.”

***

It’s fucking delicious, is what it is. Lio tries dripping the wax in little droplets and dragging it in long lines; he starts with Galo’s pecs, does his ribs and belly to start, waits between each application to give Galo time to react. Even just like this, the edges on Galo’s sharp gasps soon melt into sighs.

“I love you like this,” Lio tells Galo. “I love you all stretched out for me. I love you all loose and relaxed, I love how you can barely fit two words together except fucking ‘yes, sir’, I love the way you take pain. I’ve felt this stuff, it’s hot as shit,” he says, drawing a wax line straight down the middle of Galo’s belly, watching him shake underneath it as he struggles to stay still. “I bet I could make you come just from this. Not today, I don’t think, but one day. One day I’ll hurt you to the point of orgasm.”

Galo’s breathing is shaky, his response just a near-verklempt “ _ahh_ ”. Good. Getting there.

***

“You’re so vulnerable,” Lio says later, as he extracts wicks from his tealights with a tweezer. There’s a mess of wax on the dropcloth under them, on Lio’s shirt where he’s wiped his hands periodically, splattered beautifully on Galo’s chest, belly, and thighs. Meltwater pools under Galo’s hands where Lio’s gotten him to clutch an ice cube in each hand.

“You’re so vulnerable,” Lio says as he dumps the contents of all six tealights into a jar, “that I could do anything I wanted to you. I could put my foot on your neck or your face or your chest, stand over you like I’d just vanquished you in battle. If I’d won our first fight, maybe that’s what I would’ve done—imagine that—imagine me in armor, standing over you, one of my footpoints jammed in your xiphoid process—I could do anything to you and you’re _letting_ me.”

“You’re so vulnerable,” Lio says, hefting the jar of wax, watching Galo’s glazed eyes follow the movement, watching his chest heave more precipitously. “It’s fucking beautiful.”

He tips the jar over one pec, letting the hot wax pour over onto the nipple. Galo makes the most unhinged noise, like he’s being fucked and knifed at the same time. Red in the face, he begins to sob, tears mercilessly drawing tracks down his cheeks towards the floor.

It’s incredible. Breathlessly Lio stores the image away for later.

***

“I love hurting you like this.” Lio, hovering in a golden glow, picks the still-warm wax off a nipple and immediately targets it with ice. Galo’s throat immediately tightens, flexes, as the confusion hits his nerves and he starts clenching his jaw helplessly.

”I love the way you react so well for your master,” he says, switching nipples. The words he speaks flush him golden from crotch to head; Galo’s mouth falls open. It’s easy. It’s so easy. Almost as though they’re meant to be this way.

***

He spends a long time cooling down from the scene, with Galo and the back of a knife, which he uses to scrape the wax off him. The exposed skin leaves him with a second canvas, ready for even more sensation—but today he keeps it to his hands, to his tongue. Lio lingers, touching him slowly, circling his hands on Galo’s body, applying aloe vera where needed.

“You’ve done so well, baby,” he murmurs as he works. “So obedient and so good. You’ve waited so well for me.”

Lio blows out the candles; the smoke-smell curls around his head. The midday sun has gone afternoon-coloured in the window. Under him, Galo’s completely gone, cock flush and untouched against his belly, breathing shaky, posture loose but fingers still curling looking for purchase on reality.

Orgasm is like opening a lock. Lio strokes himself off onto Galo’s belly, which takes almost no time at all but is so intense it hits him like a rescue truck; sucking Galo off feels indulgent in the afterglow. Galo comes into Lio’s mouth with a shaky sigh, then spends a long time blinking in the afternoon sun like he’s coming awake from a nap.

He looks up at Lio, smiles molasses-slow, puts a hand over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. Rolls over halfway to put his face against Lio’s knee.

“You’re gonna get cold, Galo,” Lio says, and tucks Galo’s hair behind his ear. “Can you come with me onto the sofa?”

Galo nods, though his hand comes to hold onto Lio’s knee for a moment. He turns his face towards the ground, and Lio sees the barbered back of his neck, offered plain and open, even now that Lio has spent more than an hour hurting him.

The golden feeling in Lio’s upper brain stays on him as he takes Galo onto the sofa, wraps him up, tucks him into his shorts; it stays on him while he watches Galo wordlessly drink a glass of water and eat bites of a snack from his fingers; it stays on him while he pets a blissed-out Galo’s hair. It’s quiet in this space, quieter than it’s been in any of their play, but it’s filled with warmth.

Yeah, Lio thinks, looking at Galo’s head in his lap; he loves this man. Desperately. He could see himself staying here a long while. Forever maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING I so appreciate you joining me on this as I uhhh projected wantonly onto Lio Fotia thru the medium of pornographic epic. love writing 25k of flagrantly unedited porn in one week while procrastinating....... pls leave a comment if you made it all the way thru to chapter 8 <3!!!! thank u promare for giving me this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! maybe I'll do more oneshots in this series if I get more thirsty ideas for what to do to Galo Thymos, Firefighter, Masochist


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